Raistlin Majere and the Philosophers Stone
by Zauber
Summary: Dragonlance/Potterverse crossover: after his sacrifice in the abyss, Raistlin awakens in the body of an 11 year old boy on an alien world... Rated for casual violence in later chapters. Dark!Smart!Harry, trying to keep the rest in-canon
1. Chapter 1: The Keeper Of The Keys

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Prologue**: After Raistlin's sacrifice in closing the Portal, Paladine can't justify accepting him into the blessed realm, but still wants to give him a second chance. So he sends his soul to occupy another's body, a body whose current occupant no longer wants to live.

**Chapter 1: The Keeper of the Keys**

In a broken down shack surrounded by the roar of the wind and the crash of the sea, there lay a family. A man, a woman, and two children, lying huddled under moldy blankets, cowering from the fierce storm that surrounds them. The filthy windows would let in little enough light on the best of days, but today all that could be seen was the occasional spray of salt as the surrounding water was whipped into a white fury.

Inside, a child lay awake, shivering on the bare wooden floor, staring at nothing as we watched the seconds drift past, unable to imagine what the dawn would bring, and not daring even to try. As the roof creaked and threatened to fall in, he wondered if this, the day of his birth, would also be the day of his death. And if it was, would it really be so bad? As the minutes floated past, and the salt of his tears mixed with the harsh ocean spray that filled the air, he felt the last of his hope fade away. With a chill fatalism, Harry James Potter resigned himself to his fate, and allowed his eyes to close.

...

With a sudden crash, the boy awoke, and his mind was filled with memories. Years of experience he knew had never really happened, could not have happened, and yet... He remembered. He remembered the tortuous years of study at master Theobald's school; he remembered the war; he remembered travelling through time, the battle of Zhaman, his triumph... and his failure. He knew who he was now.

His name was

...

With a sudden crash, the man awoke, and his mind was filled with memories. "not again!" he gasped, as he remembered years of experience that he knew were not his. Centuries of study, his powers growing with every year, his ascension... and his defeat, at the hands of his would be victim, the true master of past and present. He felt his new memories overwhelm the old, his power wrested from his grasp. He knew who he was now.

His name was

...

An enormous fat man stumbled into the room, a long metal rod held in his hand as he roared "Who's there? I warn you, I'm armed!". The man's quivering arms betrayed his terror, as a small memory whispered in the back of the boys mind. _Vernon_. _Vernon Dursley._ And boy knew the man's name. A_nd the thing in his arms is a rifle, and I... this body is called Harry Potter, but I, I am Raistlin Majere! _And a small and secret smile twisted his lips.

A final, resounding crash filled the air, as the door to the shack burst open and an enormous man forced his way in, the doorway barely large enough to accommodate him. His grim visage shrouded in a shaggy mane of wild hair, his eyes deep-set and piercing black, his expression unreadable. _Surely this creature cannot be human! _Raistlin through to himself, _Half-ogre, at the least,_ as his thoughts flashed back to Raf and Steeltoe. But then again, his new memories claimed there were no ogres in this strange new world.

Turning his fierce gaze on them, his wild hair bristling in the damp air, the enormous stranger grunted hugely and spoke:

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could ye'h? It's not been an easy journey..."

The floorboards shifting beneath his enormous mass, the hulking man strode over to the sofa, where another child – _Dudley Dursley_, Raistlin's new memories supplied – was sitting.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," the stranger said, as Raistlin quietly enjoyed the look of horror on Dudley's face.

Squeaking like a pig, Dudley ran to cower behind his mother, as the giant sat, taking up the whole of the recently vacated, two person, sofa.

"An' here's harry!" he said, looking straight at Raistlin.

_Right, I'm Harry now... mustn't forget that..._ he thought to himself, as his mouth, unnoticed, turned upward in a cynical sneer at the giants oafish manner.

"Ah, that's good then, you know it's me!" the giant said, obviously mistaking Raistlin's cold smile for a grin of recognition.

"Las' time I saw yeh, yeh was on'y a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a

lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

His voice shaking with fear and fury, Uncle Vernon burst out, "I demand that you leave at once! You are breaking and entering!"

As the giant opened his mouth for what would surely have been the start of a long and tedious dialogue, Raistlin decided to take matters into his own hand. Standing, he turned to Vernon, with a glare as cold as he could muster.

"Be silent! Eleven years you have had to torture me. Eleven years of suffering, I bore at your hands! Eleven years today, and that is quite enough! I have no idea who this man is or why he is here, but it is clear that he means me no harm, which is more than I can say for you!"

Uncle Vernon stood, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly, stunned into silence, or possibly apoplexy, by this uncharacteristic outburst. The gun in his hand clattered to the floor at his feet, rolling across to come to rest at the foot of the giant, who didn't seem to notice. Turning back to him, his eyes flickering briefly to the gun at this feet, Raistlin spoke again.

"Please forgive this interruption, but if you would be so kind, I would much like to know who you are and why are here, myself."

Watching this byplay, with his face unreadable behind his shaggy beard, the giant answered him while reaching deep inside his enormous overcoat.

"Um, yeh, Harry, ah... well, it's yer birthday, an' I got summat fer yeh."

He dragged out a rather crumpled box, and handed it over.

"Sorry I mighta sat on it, but it'll taste allright. Anyway, I'm, well, me name's Rubeus Hagrid, an' I'm the keeper o' the keys an' grounds at Hogwarts school o' witchcraft an' wizardry. Why I'm here, well, it's yer eleventh birthday, surely yeh know what tha' means?"

"No, I don't." Raistlin replied, setting aside the sticky box.

Turning his gimlet gaze on the cowering dursleys, Hagrid asked quietly, "Surely you know wha' yeh are? Wha' your parents were?"

"No. All I know," Raistlin said, struggling to recall the relevant memories, "was that they died in a car crash just after I was born."By the Dark Lady, this was getting ridiculous. It's one thing to be cast adrift in what was obviously a world of madness, but then to be thrust at once, powerless, into a conversation filled with shadow and deception... Raistlin began to wonder, not why he was here (Paladine had made that clear), but just what exactly he had gotten himself into. He knew as well, that he had better find a way to take control of the situation, or he would end up no more than someone's pawn. The Dursleys could be of no more immediate use to him; this giant, on the other hand, obviously knew something important.

The enormous stranger had turned to the Dursleys, his rage filling the cabin with an air of imminent violence, as he roared something at them, only to fall, with a soft thud, to the ground at Vernon's feet. Raistlin was standing behind him, rifle clutched in his hands like a club. The roar of the storm outside was beginning to die down, allowing everyone present to hear the soft click as Raistlin disabled the safety, lowing the gun to point directly at his newly-acquired, yet already hated, Uncle.

The gun, after all, was a fairly simple device, and when you combine the intellect of a thousand year old lich with the memory of the occasional action movie, well, needless to say it was easy enough to figure out.

Staring at him with frozen horror, the Dursley's were shocked to see the air of confidence with which he held himself. Glancing down to check that Hagrid was not badly hurt, Raistlin spoke.

"You will leave now. You will go home. You will never speak of this day again. You will never speak of me again. And if you ever do..." Raistlin moved the gun to cover the young Dudley, still trying to hide behind his mother but protruding to both sides of her. "I will find you. You have until I count to three."

"Now see here -" Vernon bellowed, only to be stopped short by a thunderous roar as Raistlin fired the gun through a window. Temporarily deafened by the noise, he grimly returned the muzzle to point at Vernon again, and held up a single finger, mouthing "One".

After that, the Dursleys were more than happy to move, rushing past Raistlin to the row boat that had brought them in and speeding rapidly away. Watching them vanish into the distance, Raistlin fought the overwhelming temptation to fire again. Just a single shot in the right place, he could sink all three of them... His desire for vengeance battled, and lost, to his pragmatic realization that he might need them again in the future; this world was all too strange and new, and an eleven year old could scarcely be expected to know everything he needed.

Already, the monstrous figure on the cabin floor was beginning to stir. Setting aside the rifle, Raistlin quickly grabbed a nearby piece of broken glass, and slashed it across his cheek. Discarding the gun and turning back to Hagrid, he shook him awake, struggling to hold an expression of concern on his face.

…

**A/N:** Chapter breaks come at plot points, NOT word counts, so expect some volatility in chapter lengths, although this one is mainly just an intro. I welcome all helpful criticism – this is the first story I have ever written, so I'm looking forward to hearing what people think. Also, I'm not entirely sure how the Beta Reader thing works, so...


	2. Chapter 2: The Wand

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Chapter 2: The Wand  
**

Hagrid awoke with a pounding headache. This in itself was nothing new; As the groundskeeper for the worlds largest magical school, he was more than familiar with late nights, early mornings, and the residue of a good party. What was new, however, was the torn and bloody visage of the Boy-Who-Lived staring down at him. With a jolt of adrenaline, his mind was filled with the echoing voice of the greatest wizard on earth, the mighty Albus Dumbledore, as he gave Hagrid his task: _Make sure he gets to Hogwarts safely_.

Raistlin looked with inner satisfaction at the look of panic in the eyes of the giant, as the blood flowed down his cheek. Concentrating on keeping his faced locked in an expression of concern, he kept speaking.

"Hagrid! Oh, please wake up, please, I don't know what to do..."

Quick as a flash Hagrid had Raistlin lying flat on the battered and moldy sofa, doing his best, as he did so, to reassure Harry that everything would be all right.

"yeh jus' lie there, don' worry, yeh'll be fine, we'll get everythin' sorted out."

Reaching into his pocket, Hagrid drew out a rather rumpled looking brown owl, as well as a scheet of parchment and a quill pen. He rapidly scribbled a few words on the sheet, before tying it to the leg of the owl. He then threw it into the air, and as it flapped off yelled after it, "Straight to Dumbledore! An' hurry!"

...

Hagrid crouched next to the sofa, wringing his hands as he looked on helplessly. He didn't know any healing magic; the best he could do was to fashion a crude bandage, which he had done, and pray that the owl would bring help soon. He felt his heart twist inside him, as he looked down at the wretched clothes and unhealthy pallor of the son of his close friend. He had clearly been ill treated, the blood on his face only confirming that these Dursleys were far from the safe haven that Dumbledore had promised him.

The storm had faded, the flashes of lightning growing ever fainter as the minutes past, but Raistlin had plenty to occupy his mind. From long and bitter experience he knew well how to exaggerate an injury, and it seemed clear to him that the brute at his side would be unlikely to know, or be able to tell, him anything useful. So he spent the time in thought; reflecting on the three lives he had led, ordering his thoughts and wondering what the future had in store for him. It was a pity he had expended all of his magic against the Queen; it would have been useful to have a spell or two to hand, as it seemed clear that whatever magic these people practised, was unlike anything he had seen before.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud pop, and the sudden sense that there was another person in the room. Cracking open one eye, he saw a tall man, with a flowing silver beard, dressed in the most garish purple robes he had ever seen. A powerful wizard he must be, to be able to teleport so accurately, to a place he had surely never seen before. Unless, of course, this was all a set up... _but no, Paladine wouldn't do that _Raistlin thought. He might be an arrogant, egotistical, self-obsessed, self-righteous, manipulative... _Hmm. On second thoughts, maybe he might._

"_Episkey!"_

With a sudden jolt, Raistlin was jerked from his reverie, his body almost vibrating with a sudden rush of energy. An energy he knew, an energy that he had felt before.

_My Magic!_ He thought, shocked beyond words to feel the sudden rush of power. _But there is something different about it, something strange._

It lacked the distinctive flavour of magic that he knew from Krynn; always, when he cast a spell, he could feel the watchful eye of the god of magic, sense the nature of the energies he invoked. Being the only wizard who had known the whole spectrum of magic, he was in a unique position, and he suddenly realized the each moon – the white, the red, and the black – had a distinctive feel to it. This magic had no feel. There was no intent; no no sense of deliberation, it was but a pale force, directionless and vague, and gone almost as soon as he had felt it arrive.

His eyes wide,. Raistlin faced the new arrival, his pretence of somnolence broken. _I am only a child_, he reminded himself; _I must act and speak as a child would._ Forcing an expression of childlike innocence onto his face, he querulously asked "Who are you?"

…

The brightly robed wizard Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, most powerful wizard of his time, was worried.

When he received the hurriedly scrawled note from Hagrid telling him that something terrible had happened to the boy-who-lived, his mind was filled at once with ever disaster he could conceive. Horrified that the wizarding world might lose their saviour ahead of schedule, he rushed to apparate to his servants side, prepared for any emergency.

When he arrived at the windswept shack, surrounded by the crashing of the ocean waves and the spray of salt in the air, he was prepared for any contingency, from an dementors attack to a horde of angry muggles. He was startled, therefore, to find nothing but a tearful Hagrid watching over his blood soaked charge. Having fought two wars already, Dumbledore was well acquainted with injuries, and so could easily that Harry needed nothing more than a minor healing charm, which he performed at once.

No, this was not what worried him. What worried him was the expression on Harry's face. Certainly the healing charm could not have hurt him; and yet he started awake, as if shocked. And his face! His expression, at once focussed and empty, as if he was struggling with great effort merely to focus his eyes. Dumbledore had to wonder whether there was something very wrong with the boy-who-lived. If he had somehow been brain damaged, it could be disastrous!

"Who are you?" the boy said, to Dumbledore's great relief. _Thank merlin, at least he can talk! There may be hope for us yet._

oOoOoOo

"My name is Dumbledore", the old man replied. "And you, of course, are Harry Potter."

Turning to Hagrid, he continued. "Thank you Hagrid, I'm sure that harry appreciates your being here, but for now I think it would be best if I took him directly to Madam Pomfrey. You may accompany him to Diagon alley tomorrow morning."

Taking Raistlin's hand, and failing to notice the boy stiffen as he did so, Dumbledore raised his wand turned sharply. Raistlin felt the world shift abruptly, as he felt himself swept up by a stream of magic and carried off – a stream of magic he recognized, from the many times he had teleported, himself. Just as suddenly as it left, the world returned; only now Raistlin found himself sitting on a raised bed, in what he recognized as a castle sickroom.

Spotting their arrival, a woman with hair nearly as white as her robes quickly bustled towards him, looking nearly as decrepit as the wizard who had brought him there. _I wonder if all magicians in this world are old?_ Raistlin wondered, recalling with a pang the young age at which he had achieved mastery. _Or maybe it's just the old ones who have nothing better to do._ He thought with a touch of cynical amusement.

"If you wouldn't mind, Poppy," Dumpledore said, "The boy could use a quick checkover; then I think we had better let him get some rest. He's got a busy day tomorrow! Raistlin, this is Madam Pomfrey, our school nurse."

"What am I doing tomorrow?" Raistlin asked, as she began waving a wand over him, muttering under her breath.

"Tomorrow you will be travelling with Hagrid to visit Diagon alley, the most magical area of London, to purchase your school supplies. I don't suppose you can tell me what happened?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, the last thing I remember is Dudley braining Hagrid with a rock, and then they all ran off, but uncle Vernon knocked me down on the way and told me I wasn't to come with them. He.. He said if he ever saw me again, it would be too soon..." Raistlin trailed off, as he struggled to cry. Unfortunately faking tears was a skill he had never acquired, being more inclined by nature to seek vengeance than pity. Now, however, he could use all the advantages he could get, and saw nothing wrong with taking the chance to establish himself as the underdog.

Had Raistlin looked up at that moment, he would have caught a rather forbidding expression on Dumbledore's face. An expression that few had seen, and of those few, even fewer had lived to tell of it. Still, at that time, Raistlin wasn't to know. Seconds drifted past, with Raistlin working hard to assume a contrite demeanour, and at last the old nurse finished her muttering. When she didn't speak immediately, Dumbledore glanced at her and, catching sight of her worried expression, spoke:

"So, how is our boy doing? Nothing too serious, I hope..."

"I have to say, Albus," she replied, brow furrowed, "I do not think I can ever recall a case like this. There is nothing physically... well, he is not seriously injured, in any case. However, from what I can tell, he seems to be suffering from the most severe nutritional deprivation. Frankly, it's a miracle he's survived this long, and if he doesn't start getting some decent food I would not expect him to make it much longer."

"I see. Will he be well enough to join us this year?"

"On his own, perhaps, perhaps not." The nurse answered, pensively. "Although... there are some potions I could try. I have never had need to, before, but I do recall reading something about certain magics, designed to reverse bodily neglect. I'll see what I can dig up."

"An excellent job, as always, Poppy!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, now smiling happily. "If you would be so kind, Mr. Potter, I think there are a few things we need to discuss."

"Really, Headmaster" Madam Pomfrey interrupted "the boy needs his rest! You will have all the time in the world to talk with him tomorrow, but for now I must insist he gets some sleep".

"Ah, of course. All things in their time, eh boy?" Dumbledore said to Raistlin, as he winked before strolling out the room. Madam Pomfrey smiled kindly down at him, and handed him a glass vial with some sort of foul-smelling liquid moving sluggishly inside it.

"Here you are" she said, "drink this. It will guarantee you a good nights sleep – like as not you'll need it, if you're to be spending tomorrow with the Headmaster."

Raistlin could see after a moment that she had no intention of leaving him until he drank whatever was in the bottle. He figured that if they meant him harm, they could easily force him to drink it; on the other hand, if he did it himself, he might incur their goodwill. Then again, there was no telling what it might do. It was entirely possible that if he refused, they really would force him to drink it...

He downed the bottle, and immediately felt a wave of darkness closing over him. As he began to panic, he realised he could feel something in the darkness, something familiar – a spark of energy, sweeping around him. For the second time since he arrived at this new world, he felt the touch of magic, and allowed it to wash over him. Sinking further into the comforting shadow, surrounded by the familiar aura of of power, he faded into sleep.

oOoOoOo

The next day dawned hard and clear, the sun shone brightly, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily as he appeared in Diagon Alley. Beside him was his newest charge, the boy known as Harry Potter, whose true and secret name was Raistlin Majere.

Dumbledore had explained about the wizarding world, and his place in it. He had explained about the risks and rewards of magic, and the statute of secrecy, something that Raistlin at first took in stride. After all, it only made sense for the wizards to isolate themselves; even on Krynn, they had been outnumbered, and on this world it was apparently far worse, with only a fraction of the population being capable of any sort of _real_ power. And of course, wizards needed time to rest and study their spells between engagements.

He was rather shocked, therefore, to discover that this was not in fact the case. In this world, wizards could go on casting for as long as they had strength, perhaps indefinitely, yet the "muggles" (their word for non-magic-users) had invented powerful artefacts of technology, weapons of destruction greater than anything he had seen before.

He was still pondering this shift in the balance when they reached Ollivanders. By this time the day was almost done; He had acquired his robes and school supplies, which were of little interest to him, as was the revelation of his vault. What need had a wizard, for money? Dumbledore had even insisted on buying his books himself, assuring Raistlin that any he could desire would be readily available in the school library. Knowing that if the books were really valuable, they would not be so easily purchased, Raistlin had left it at that. And so they came to Ollivander.

A bell rang quietly as they stepped into the deserted store. The shop consisted of a tiny open area with a single spindly chair, surrounded by floor to ceiling shelves covered in boxes. Behind the table, more shelves stretched off into the distance. Shortly after entering, an old man appeared before them, stepping into sight from around one of the many shelves. His eyes shone as pale as the moon, and he moved with a strange precision that seemed somehow inhuman.

"Ah yes," he said, " Professor Dumbledore. And you must be harry potter."

"Indeed. Harry, I introduce you to Master Ollivander, the greatest wandmaker in england. He will be helping you select your first wand."

"Now now, professor," Ollivander replied with a small smile. "We both know that it is the wand that chooses the wizard!"

At this, dumbledore smiled as well. Raistlin looked back and forth between them, convinced there was something going on here beyond the surface, and a trifle uncertain under the weight of Ollivander's unblinking gaze.

"My dear... Harry... Potter..." Ollivander spoke slowly, with a slight emphasis on his name, "I'm afraid the past is beyond your mastery, yet still your coming was foretold. I believe... yes, if you will wait but a moment, I have just the wand for you!"

Ollivander stepped away from them, seeming to disappear at once between the stacks of boxes. Dumbledore was frowning slightly at him, noting the look of shock that had appeared on Raistlin's face.

"Harry, you don't want to listen to closely to anything Ollivander has to say. Certainly, he is an extraordinary wandmaker, but beyond that... well, I'm afraid the years have not been kind to him."

"Of course, Professor" Raistlin replied "but, shouldn't we ought to humour him?"

Dumbledore had opened his mouth to reply, but closed it quickly when Ollivander reappeared, holding in his hand a small red box covered in dust. With a practised flick of his wrist, he shook the dust off of it and opened it up. He turned the box to face Raistlin, who saw within a white silk cushion, and resting on it, a small straight stick, dull brown in colour, and looking thoroughly ordinary.

Unperturbed by the lack of reaction to to the sight of his new wand, Ollivander merely smiled again, and gestured for Raistlin to take it. Stretching out his hand, Raistlin hesitantly picked up the wand. The silent room, shrouded in the dust of ages, and the portentous early remarks had him half expecting something dramatic to happen; perhaps a flash of light, at the very least. Instead, he felt a sudden warmth sweep through him, a rush of energy as if he had just awakened after a very long sleep. Every part of his body tingled, and he felt at once taller, more confident.

Raistlin knew this feeling. He knew it like he knew his arms or his legs. Like the air he breathed, or the food that sustained him, the magic was to him. And yet, this was not magic as he knew it before. Then, the power had come from the Gods above him, he had channelled it, yes, controlled it, yes, but it was never truly his. He had always known that, somewhere deep inside, and ruthlessly suppressed the knowledge, even as he strove to achieve his _own _power, to make the magic truly his, alone... and now it was.

For this magic sprung from somewhere within him. More potent than the strongest wine, at once as pure as ice and blazing like the sun, the power filled him, and at once he knew that, having embraced it once, he would never lose it again.

He raised his arm, lifting his new wand above his head, and let the magic flow forth, unformed, and a cloud of golden stars burst from the tip of the wand.

Into the silence, Ollivander spoke reverently.

"Ah yes, Mr. Potter... I can see you are destined for great things..."


	3. Chapter 3: The Train

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Chapter 3: The Train**

The weather was cloudy and cool on the day Raistlin stood on Kings' Cross station, awaiting the train that would take him to Hogwarts... Again. Why Raistlin had to leave the school, to take a train, to get to the school again, was utterly beyond him; but Dumbledore would only smile mysteriously, and say that it was 'necessary'. This put Raistlin forcibly in mind of another old wizard, one who wore the white robes. So Raistlin took comfort in imagining Dubmledore burning alive, held fast by legs turned to stone, his screams fading as his flesh melted... Ah, the wonderful memories of a life well lived!

So it came to pass that Raistlin stood in the station, looking at platform 9. Then platform 10. Then platform 9 again. He was expecting his platform, 9¾, to spring into being between them, much as the leaky cauldron did for wizards. Unfortunately, it did not. _Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have sent me if it wasn't obvious, would he?_ He thought.

Just as he was wondering if was somehow looking at the wrong place, he heard a few words over his shoulder.

"- packed with Muggles, of course -"

Raistlin swung round. The speaker was a plain looking, plump woman, whose most distinguishing feature was her fiery red hair – as it was of the four boys with her. Each of them had a trunk, similar to the one Dumbledore had purchased for Raistlin's use, which was still at the school. They also had a small cage with them, holding a rather elderly owl.

Raistlin moved close enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" The woman said, presumably the boys mother – they certainly looked enough alike.

"Nine and three quarters!" piped a small girl "Mom, can't I..." she trailed off, as she spotted Raistlin, his intense gaze causing her to squeak and hide behind her mother.

"Now, really" the woman said, as she turned to see Raistlin watching them. Frowning slightly (for Raistlin still, at the behest of the Headmaster, wearing muggle clothing), she seemed to pause for a moment, before her face lightened in a deep smile that somehow didn't reach her eyes.

"Hello, dear" she said, "first time at Hogwarts?"

"You know who I am." Raistlin stated bluntly.

"Ah, um, you looked a little lost really, and I thought..." the woman trailed off, looking confused, but rallying quickly with a condescending smile. "Need help getting through the barrier?"

Raistlin decided to have a little fun.

"What barrier?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I am waiting for my train."

"Mum, we have to go!" one of the boys said, "We're going to miss it and I want to find Lee."

Still looking nonplussed, the woman waved them towards the barrier.

"Go ahead then. Percy, Fred, George, watch your for your brother."

At once, three of the boys started for the barrier at a run, while the oldest strolled forward at a more sedate pace.

Watching them closely, Raistlin ignored the sounds the woman continued to make, carefully observing as they stepped into – and through – the barrier. Following them slowly, he placed his hand flat against it. He could feel at once the cold stone of the wall, and at the same time a sense of space beyond. He knew that if he stepped forward, the barrier would fade away and allow him through.

At the same time though, he also sensed something else, something – to him – far more important. He could sense the magic in the wall. He felt it pulsing just beyond his skin; hot and alien, and somehow almost alive. Concentrating on his own inner energy, he struggled to bring the two into contact; letting the power of the wall feel him, know him.

Deep within his magic, he spoke with a voice made strong through years of determined practice. _Know me_, he said. _Feel me. I am the master of my magic; I will master you!_

For a brief, shining moment, he felt his power connect; felt the magic of the barrier waver, fall to him; he sensed it acknowledge his mastery, and then the sensation faded. He lost his grip on his power, and stumbled through, landing on his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

As Raistlin lay there, recovering and thanking the gods (and Madam Pomfrey's excellent ministrations) that at least this body was stronger than his last, someone else stepped through the barrier and stumbled over him.

Scowling at them, Raistlin forced himself to his feet and quickly moved away. The platform was filled with milling people, wearing a mix of muggle and magical outfits. In front of Raistlin stood an enormous steam train, which he made haste to board, wanting to avoid another encounter with any more overly-helpful witches.

oOoOoOo

Finding his way to an empty room in the train. Raistlin sat, absently twirling his wand between his fingers. Dumbledore had refused to allow him any books, rightfully worrying about what he might get up to, with time to study on his own, but he couldn't justify keeping him from his wand for the train ride in. So Raistlin sat, and waited impatiently to arrive at Hogwarts, where his education could finally begin.

The door to the compartment opened slowly, almost apologetically, and a small boy peered fearfully in, an even smaller toad clutched in his arms.

"C-can I s-s-sit w-with y-you? The other c-compartments are f-fu-full."

Recognising someone who had suffered, feeling at once both pity and disgust, Raistlin waved him in. Directing him to the opposite bench, he said "Sit", and returned to starting out the window, absently fingering his wand.

The boy spoke.

"Hh-hi, m-my n-name is n-n-Neville l-Longbottom, w-w-what's... wh-who are y-you?"

Raistlin glanced at him blankly, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation, and now rather regretting allowing him into the compartment.

"S-s-stammering c-curse" the boy said, misinterpreting his expression and looking down shamefully.

Seeing this, Raistlin was struck again with pity. He knew what it was to be a child mocked, and it's not like he had anything better to do... Plus, this would be a good opportunity to experiment with this new form of magic.

There was a blast of steam as the train began to pull away. Raistlin stepped across the compartment and set down next to Neville, brusquely commanding "Give me your hand".

Neville cringed away. "Ww-why?"

"I will try to help you. I mean you no harm. Now stop cowering and give me your hand, unless you _want_ to stay like this!"

Shyly, Neville held out his hand, and Raistlin took it. Placing the tip of his wand against the palm of the boys hand, Raistlin closed his eyes and concentrated. He tried to bring the sense of magic he felt inside him, through the wand, to touch the boy – perhaps that way he could see what magic afflicted him.

Long moment passed, before Raistlin felt a subtle click in his mind, and was abruptly aware of the boy's magic beyond him. He could feel himself, his power channelled through his wand, touching the boy. He could feel around him, and alien energy; a minor trace of power, slowly fading, but clinging strongly still. With a flick of his mind, he touched it. With a twist of his magic, he made a small shift in the structure of the enchantment, causing it to destabilize and fall away on its own.

Coming back to himself, Raistlin was shocked to discover he was breathing heavily, and could feel sweat soaking his skin. The magic he had just performed would have been considered a minor feat on Krynn, barely worthy of an apprentice's consideration; he had no way of knowing that, in this world, adult wizards studied their whole lives to achieve even this much.

Neville, however, did have some idea of what had happened, and was staring at Raistlin in awe.

"Thank you..." he began to say.

Raistlin interrupted him by moving determinedly back to the other bench, waving dismissively.

Undaunted by Raistlin's scowl, Neville took a deep breath and continued.

"No, really. I don't know how you did that or why, but this is my first day and it would have been just too embarrassing! I swear, you have earned the gratitude of the house of Longbottom."

There wasn't much Raistlin could think of to say to that. He briefly wondered if it would be worth making an effort to cultivate the boy for future use, but decided it wasn't. He had never needed anyone else before; he wasn't going to start now.

The next couple of hours were uneventful, Neville having realized that Raistlin wasn't interested in talking, and the two of them keeping a companionable silence. Then the compartment door was opened again, this time by a trio. In the lead was a sharp featured boy with platinum blond hair, slicked tightly back, pale eyes, and a haughty look about him. Behind him stood two thickset boys the same age, trying their best to look intimidating, and not succeeding.

"So it's true." the blond boy said, "Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. I never would have guessed."

"_You're_ Harry Potter?" Neville gasped, before catching a glare from the blond boy and shutting his mouth with a blush.

Raistlin looked at the new entrant, sizing him up, and deciding on which approach would be most entertaining. Although he had been forbidden from reading any spellbooks, Dumbledore had provided him with some texts on wizarding culture and politics.

"That is correct. I hight Harry, Lord of the Ancient and Moste Noble House of Potter. And who, may I ask, are you?"

"I hight Draco, of the Ancient and Moste Noble house of Malfoy" the boy replied, taken aback by the formal response.

"Draco? _Just_ Draco? Are you sure you don't mean _Master_ Draco?" Raistlin asked sarcastically.

Without changing his relaxed posture, Raistlin flicked his wrist, and his wand appeared in his hand – pointed directly at Draco. Raistlin had always been good at such sleight of hand, but from Draco's perspective, it must have looked like magic.

"Bow before your superior!" Raistlin commanded.

Choosing the better part of valor, Draco complied, bowing elegantly.

"My Lord Potter, I had heard that you were raised among muggles and unaware of your place in our world. Obviously, I was misinformed." Draco said, frowning faintly.

"No, Draco, you were informed correctly. But I am not merely a son of the Potters; I am the Lord of the House. There are magics involved... well, perhaps you will be told when you are older."

Draco, beginning to worry that something more was going on here than he knew about, Draco decided on a more cautious approach than he had planned, or was accustomed to. Drawing on his childhood training in the manners and customs of the ancient houses, he spoke again.

"My Lord Potter, I thank you for granting this audience, and beg you to know that, should the House of Potter ever have need of the House of Malfoy, I am at your disposal."

Bowing again, Draco left the compartment, tripping over his minions as he attempted to leave politely backwards, and instead walked into them. Picking himself up, Draco rushed back to his own compartment, thinking furiously and planning to owl his father immediately. This was _not_ right! _Something_ was going on here, and Draco had been stuck right in the middle of it, and it _wasn't fair, _and _he needed to know what to do!_

Meanwhile, Neville was staring at Raistlin with even more awe, if such a thing were possible. Not being familiar with the concept of hero-worship, having never experienced either side of it himself, Raistlin was at a loss how to react and settled on ignoring him.

Hours passed. The snacks cart had come and gone, Raistlin ignoring it with disinterest, while Neville was too intimidated by his famous companion to eat.

The compartment doors opened. Raistlin, who had heard the footsteps approaching, was not surprised; Neville jumped slightly though, and then began to blush again. Embarrassed, Neville wondered whether he should have chosen another carriage – any other carriage! Certainly, he had helped him with the stuttering curse, and seeing him take down Malfoy was fun, but this was surely the strangest journey he had ever taken!

Looking in at them from then corridor was a girl whose most immediately striking feature was her enormously bushy brown hair, although aside from that, and her slightly too prominent front teeth, she would be considered quite attractive.

"Hallo? I'm Hermione" she said, smiling, "I just wanted to meet everyone on the train before we got to hogwarts! Isn't it exciting? We'll be learning all sorts of new things!"

Seeing that Raistlin apparently couldn't care less, Neville answered her.

"Hi Hermione, I'm Neville Longbottom, and that's Harry Pott.. er, I mean Lord Harry of the Ancient and Moste Noble House of Potter. Well, I guess technically I'm a Moste Noble house too, um.." he trailed off in confusion.

"Oh, I recognize that!" Hermione said, "That's the traditional greeting! I read about it in _A Wizarding Genealogy_, and you... You're Harry Potter! You're in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_, and _Wizarding Britain_, and... and... all sorts of books! It's very nice to meet you!".

Raistlin looked at Hermione's outstretched hand neutrally, making no move to take it.

"Girl. I don't know who you are. I don't care who you are. I am going to Hogwarts to learn, not to make friends. If you are wise, you will not offend me."

Nonplussed, Hermione turned to Neville. "Well, do YOU mind if I talk to you? I don't see why we can't make friends _and_ learn."

"Hermione," Neville replied, "This is Harry Potter. He defeated a Dark Lord when he was one. I've already seen him do wordless magic, and he _made Draco Malfoy aplogize!_ I think he can probably do anything he wants to, and if I were you, I would try _very hard_ not to annoy him. I don't think he wants to talk right now, so it might be better if you left him in peace."

Completely missing the point of his little speech, Hermione said "Well I think that's a bit rude!" before turning to Raistlin, her eyes wide.

"You can do wordless magic? Is it hard? I've heard that it's hard. How do you do it? Is it like casting a regular spell? How did you learn it?"

Raistlin turned his attention to her, but before he could say anything, Neville interceded.

"Hermione. Go. Away."

Practically shaking with uncertainty, Neville nevertheless went to stand in front of her, looking directly into her eyes as he spoke.

"But-" Hermione said uncertainly.

"You are not wanted here. Leave now." Neville said gravely, and Hermione turned and fled the compartment. Raistlin could here a sob escape her as she ran, and when Neville sat back down, favoured him with a grim smile.

"That was helpful," Raistlin said, thinking _he may prove useful after all_.

Now that the confrontation had passed, and Raistlin seemed disinclined to hex him, Neville relaxed in the corner. His Gran had warned him what some of the pureblood families were like, and told him he should do his best to get on their good side, never anticipating that he would actually succeed. Neville felt his heart glow, with the thought that he had made a friend – and on his first day, too!.

oOoOoOo

Arriving at the castle, the older students set off in one direction, while the first years were waved over to the lake by none of than the Hogwarts Groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid.

Recognizing him, Raistlin rolled his eyes. He had consciously been avoiding him, seeing the hulking brute as a waste of time with no redeeming qualities. At least Caramon could speak common!

"Firs' years! Firs'; years! Over here!" Hagrid called.

Glancing at Neville beside him, Raistlin saw an opportunity.

"Neville, would you do me a favour? I don't want Hagrid to see me, so... go and attract his attention."

Pleased to be able to help his new friend, Neville said brightly "Of course, Harry!" Thinking for a moment, he handed Raistlin his toad, asking him "Can you hold Trevor for a moment?". Reluctantly, Raistlin did so, regretting it almost immediately.

As he followed the flow of students to the boats, Raistlin heard Neville's anguished voice calling to Hagrid, "Please help! I can't find my toad!" and knew that he would keep Hagrid busy.

oOoOoOo

Raistlin made it to the cavern without encountering the groundskeeper. The three children who joined him in his boat were more interested in talking among themselves than including him, which was absolutely fine in his mind. Raistlin just wanted the day to be over, so he could finally get some real work done.

Hagrid guided them to the enormous oaken doors at the front of the castle, handing them over to someone else once they got inside. From his position near the back of the crowd, Raistlin couldn't make out who, but he was distract in any case by the room they stood in.

The entrance hall was an enormous structure, built of massive slabs of stone, and light by thousands of flaming torches. Yet Raistlin was unimpressed. His memories of Harry's life among the muggles had introduced him to concepts such as _carpeting_ and _floodlights_, and so to him the hall simply seemed outdated. A remnant of a forgotten age, and a tribute to meaningless nostalgia.

The woman guided them to a cramped room on one side of the hall, and gave them her usual speech about the houses of hogwarts. Raistlin paid little attention, having asked the Headmaster about it all already, although the precise nature of the sorting had yet to be revealed.

"Nervous, Potter?" a snide voice behind him said.

"Draco. I imagine you have no doubts as to where you will end up."

"None at all." Draco said, smiling superiorly. "My family have always been Slytherins, and proud of it! I suspect you will be joining us – I'll save a space for you at the table, although you'll have to leave your little pet behind."

"Draco." Raistlin replied, "You speak as a child, with a child's understanding. I do not know what is taught in the House of Malfoy, but we Potters recognize that it is better to have a single, truly loyal, servant, than an army that cannot be trusted."

"Hear that, Neville?" Draco said with a sneer, "How does it feel to be a servant?"

"_Master_ Draco, of the Ancient and Moste Noble House of Malfoy, you begin to offend me." Raistlin said, sliding his hand into his robe. "Think twice before you speak again."

Eyeing Raistlin's wand hand, Draco turned away and began a quiet discussion with a nearby girl.

Raistlin was thinking about how to react to that slight, when a number of people around them abruptly gasped and pointed at the far wall, where about twenty pearly white, slightly transparent, figures had entered just above head height.

Raistlin was at first surprised at the shock evident on some peoples faces, before he realized that of course the muggle-borns would think they were ghosts. To his more experience eyes though, he saw at once that they could easily be a half dozen different kinds of illusion or conjuration. He made a mental note to corner one later, and examine it in more depth. As for right now, though, the ghosts floated their way across the room, and the new students begin filing their way into the next room.

oOoOoOo

The great hall was constructed of enormous blocks of stone, and illuminated by the light of hundreds of candles. Raistlin wondered to himself whether this was for the sake of tradition, or if wizards were really that far stuck in the past. The only remotely impressive feature of the place was the ceiling, which even then was nothing a fifth level wizard couldn't create. In fact, from what he had seen so far, the whole building was decidedly unimpressive.

The students stood in a line facing the rest of the room, and directly in front of them was placed an old and ragged hat. Raistlin was startled to hear the hat sing, and even more worried by what it said. The idea of anyone reading his mind scared him, and he well knew the dangers involved in putting on enchanted headgear.

He thought about refusing, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble – he was confident that any compulsion it laid on him, he would eventually be able to overcome. Still, it was with a sense of trepidation that he walked forward to be sorted.

As the hat was placed on his head, he felt an uncanny stillness grip his body, and a voice echo in the silence of his mind.

"Well well well, what have we here..."

oOoOoOo

**A/N:** Yes, JK wrote "mom" instead of "mum" in the original book. I checked.


	4. Chapter 4: The Hat

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Note:** Someone commented the story seemed to be following canon very closely. There's a reason for that - apart from Harry, all characters are as they were in canon. As he is still (percieved to be) a very young child, Raistlin has as yet has little control over where he goes or what he does, with more powerful adults constantly at hand to step in and steer him back on the "right" course. That said, don't worry – he's not one to let others control his destiny. I don't want to give any spoilers, but... let's just say, by the end of his second year, you'll have no idea what's coming! :D

If there do seem to be differences,and there should, remember that Harry (and now Raistlin) is an _unreliable narrator_. There is a world of difference between the perceptions of a naïve 11 year old boy and a centuries old lich, but the other characters themselves – and their motivations – are as close as I can get to the originals.

**Chapter 4: The Hat**

"Well, well, well, what have we here..." the sorting hat spoke, as it was carefully placed in Raistlin's head.

_Are you going to reveal me?_ Raistlin asked calmly, although his heart was beating faster.

"Now, why would I go and do a thing like that?" the hat replied. "My job is to sort children, not to judge them, and your past is your own affair."

Raistlin was relieved to hear this, although now that he no longer had to worry about being discovered, his mind was free to dwell on concerns as to his house. Dumbledore had made it clear, in his sideways fashion, that the House affiliation lasted well beyond school, and was treated here much as the colour of ones robe was treated on Krynn, excepting only that there were four colours rather than three.

"I see you have no loyalty to anyone but yourself, so Hufflepuff is right out. Of the other three, hmm..." the hat mused.

_I believe I should be placed in Ravenclaw_, Raistlin thought. He remembered his reason for choosing to take the Red robes, and later, for changing to the Black; as well as Fistandantilus' reasoning, and in all cases it was the same – a desire to learn more then was available to the other alignments. Ravenclaw seemed to fit the bill, here, being the house of learning and knowledge.

"No, Ravenclaw won't do. That is for those who prize knowledge for it's own sake. As much as you love to learn, it was always with some other goal in mind."

Raistlin was not prepared to argue the issue. From what he could tell, access to magic was not restricted by house, only the expectations of others differed. Since he intended to work primarily alone, the choice of house did not seem particularly relevant.

"Yes indeed, and that is a thought worthy of a Slytherin!" the voice of the hat echoed. "You have a willingness to do anything to achieve your goals, and you are certainly more then capable of the cunning expected of that house."

_So, you will place me in Slytherin?_ Raistlin asked mentally. It seemed suitable.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I see that although you are cunning, and more then willing to sacrifice others to achieve your goals, you are also willing to sacrifice yourself. And that is _not_ characteristic of Slytherin."

Raistlin was going to ask what the hat meant, but couldn't help answering his own question. He remembered long thankless hours treating those struck by plague; he remembered freeing Bupu, with a charm of safe passage; he remembered his final sacrifice, the one that earned him this chance at a new life, when he gave up the godhood that had already cost him so much to attain...

"Exactly." the hat said, and Raistlin realized that it was watching his thoughts as they formed.

"Quite correct. And that is why I think you would make an excellent Gryffindor, every bit as much as you would a Slytherin".

Raistlin disapproved. He knew that bravery and self-sacrifice were not really in his nature, and if the hat was so smart, it would realize that he belonged in Slytherin. Or Ravenclaw; he still hadn't quite abandoned that idea, but the idea of being surrounded by the "brave" and "chivalrous" was repugnant to him.

"See? There you are! What Slytherin would be so willing to face themselves, and the truth of their spirit?"

_No._ Raistlin thought, _I cannot be compelled. I belong in Slytherin; place me there._

"Something that very few will admit to, because very few know, is that I do not make decisions, myself." The hat said conversationally. "I merely allow the subconscious nature of the child I am placed on, to reveal itself. It is they, who decide where they belong."

_Then I have decided. Place me in Slytherin._

"And there, of course, we have the crux of the issue. You see, it does not matter so much _what_ you decide, as it does _why_ you decide it. And in this case, you are choosing to face a hard truth about yourself, and choosing with integrity where you belong."

_And if I had demanded that you place me in Gryffindor?_ Raistlin asked. This was starting to feel distinctly unfair; Raistlin had the feeling he was being railroaded into Gryffindor, although for what reason, he could not imagine.

"Then I would have had no choice but to commend you to Slytherin."

_Place me in Gryffindor! _Raistlin demanded.

"Too late!" the hat cackled, before calling out loud enough for the whole hall to hear:

"**GRYFFINDOR!"**

Feeling cheated, Raistlin walked slowly to the Gryffindor table.

oOoOoOo

No one in Gryffindor was quite sure what to make of the famous Harry Potter. Students sorted into the house of the brave (as they liked to think of themselves) tended to be boisterous, reckless, and inclined to laugh or fight at the drop of a hat. Or at least, they were after a year or two in the company of the older Gryffindors.

Raistlin himself was suspicious. The whole conversation with the hat had given him the uneasy feeling that he was being manipulated. Clearly _someone_ had decided that, will he or nill he, Harry Potter belonged in Gryffindor. Raistlin would just have to find out for himself who that was, and why.

Listening to the conversations around him, Raistlin noted to himself the callousness with which the wizards and witches treated the concept of muggleness. It seemed that your average wizard would rather be dead than without their magic (an attitude with which Raistlin heartily concurred), and were more than willing to apply that attitude to their children.

All around him he heard people exchanging life stories, along with tales of squib-hunts and muggle baiting, the latter of which seemed to be a favoured activity for many pureblood families. Even Neville had narrowly escaped with his life, and yet seemed to hold no grudge over the fact that, if he had proved not to have magic, he would now most likely be dead.

Looking up at the staff table, Harry saw that most of the professors were concentrating on their food, although he caught the eye of two of them. The first, a lanky, dark haired man with sallow skin and a hooked nose, was staring directly at him with an expression of undisguised hatred. Feeling that this just might be something important to know, he elbowed the sandy haired boy sitting next to him and asked, "Who's the the black haired professor? Third from the right?"

"Oh, that's Snape. He's the potions professor, and a right evil git." the boy answered.

Up until then, any attempts at starting conversation with him had been met with an icy silence, and the other students had taken the hint and not tried to engage him. Having been the first to speak, however, the other boy seemed to take it as an invitation to continue.

"You're a firstie, so you wouldn't know, but those others are Hagrid, he's the giant one, and doesn't teach anything; I think he's some sort of servant. Then there's the guy in the turban, he's new; must be the new defense professor, and"

It was at that point that Quirrel looked up, and met Raistlins gaze. At once, a blinding pain shot through his head, as if a burning brand was pressed against his forehead.

"Ow!" Raistlin gasped, clasping a hand to his head, and waiting for the pain to fade and his eyes to stop watering.

Several of the students were looking at him with concern. Having mostly finished their meals, they had been chatting among themselves.

"I-I don't feel well, I need to..." Raistlin muttered, getting up from the table. His departure was ignored by the majority of the students and staff, who either did not see him go, or did not care.

Dumbledore, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, observed with a frown; Snape, on the other hand, was positively thrilled at the thought that his mere glare was enough to send the Potter child scurrying from the room. Finally, there was Neville. Concerned at this reaction, he excused himself from the table, and hurried from the hall after Raistlin.

oOoOoOo

Blindly Raistlin swept through the halls, and as the pain faded, it was replaced with a growing fury.

_What is pain to me? I have suffered at the hands of dark elves, mastered a dragon orb, confronted Takhisis herself! And now I flee from the room like a child? How can this be! What have I been reduced to..._

Raistlin's mind was filled with a burning anger towards himself, and his own weakness. Silently he cursed himself for his failure, as he strode unseeing through the halls.

He felt a hand on his robe. Turning abruptly, he struck out; knocking the boy who had followed him to the ground. Raising his wand, he prepared to unleash what little magic he had on whoever dared to disturb him.

"_Damen du! _You -"

Neville Longbottom fell backwards, shocked. His friend Harry Potter stood in front of him, wand drawn, an air of palpable fury surrounding him. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could have sworn he saw his life flash before his eyes.

To say that Raistlin was surprised to see him was an understatement. True, Raistlin understood the concept of a friend, but he had not considered Neville in that category. He would certainly not have imagined the boy would follow him.

Relaxing his posture, Raistlin reined in his temper with visible effort, and put his wand away.

"Why did you follow me?" He asked, more civilly.

"I-I was worried! I saw you rush of, and I wanted to make sure you were ok."

"I am fine. There is no need for you to concern yourself with me; return to the hall."

The fear fading, Neville looked around himself with concern.

"I'm afraid I don't know where we are. You were going so fast, and I had to run to catch up with you, and I've never been in the castle before. Can... Can I stay with you?" He asked hopefully.

"Fine." Raistlin sighed.

They had travelled some distance into the castle, but Raistlin had been this way before, and had no difficulty picking his way out. The walls and staircases were liable to move at a moments notice, the paintings change places, and even the suits and armour would get up and walk around. Nevertheless, Raistlin found he could always tell where he was by the distinctive feel of the magic in the air.

Not for nothing was he the greatest wizard ever to live on krynn. Although he had been barred from learning magic so far, his days had not been idle.

"So, what is it with you, anyway?" Neville asked, feeling an urge to break the silence as they walked.

"What about me?"

"You're all cold and distant all the time, it's like you don't even want to talk to anyone." Neville tried to explain.

"That is because I do _not_ want to talk to anyone. I have better things to occupy my mind with than the inane chatter of a bunch of children."

"But you're a child, too! Isn't that kind of what we do?"

Raistlin could see this boy was unusually insightful, and decided to share some of his immense wisdom. Or possibly, he was just bored, or just preferred the sound of his own voice. Uncertain himself why he was doing so, he spoke.

"I am a child now, yes. And I will be tomorrow. But, ten years from now? Twenty? I will not be a child forever. And when that time comes, I do not want to look back on these years as having been wasted. No, I will use every minute to its fullest, for we are given far too few."

"An admirable sentiment" Albus Dumbledore interjected, appearing unnoticed behind them.

"Sir." Raistlin said, "where did you come from?"

Chuckling merrily, Dumbledore replied "ah, I have my little ways. But now, I think, it would be best if you were to proceed to your common room, Master Longbottom – Harry here and I have something to discuss."

"Um, sir?" Neville asked diffidently "I'm sorry, but I don't know the way. Harry was showing me."

"Not a problem, not a problem!" the headmaster replied, and with a flick of his wand, a bright spark of light appeared before them. "Follow this light, and it will lead you there. The password, by the way, is 'Caput Draconis'."

They watched Neville leave, Raistlin nodding gravely at him when he glanced back as he left.

"So, Master Potter, perhaps you will explain why you rushed form the hall so suddenly?"

"Sir, who is Snape?" Raistlin replied.

Dumbledore seemed to relax infinitesimally at this response. "Ah, so it was our potions master who disturbed you. Quite understandable."

"_I _don't understand it." Raistlin said, frowning up at the older wizard.

Dumbledore sighed.

"I am afraid, that Professor Snape – and I will ask you to use his title, when discussing him or any other professor – was... Not a friend of your father."

"I see." Raistlin said. And he did; how someone could hold a grudge for so long, well, Dalamar had held one for decades after his exile.

Dumbledore looked mournfully down at his new student.

"Don't worry, nothing bad... well, at least nothing _permanently_ bad ever happens to students at Hogwarts! You'll be perfectly safe here. Now, off to bed with you!"

Having pointed Raistlin in the right direction with a spell similar to the one he had used for Neville, Dumbledore proceeded to skip merrily down the hall, vanishing with a flash of fire in the midst of his second step.

Raistlin walked in the direction of Gryffindor tower until he was sure he was alone. The power that filled the air around Dumbledore was enormous, but he wasn't much at dissembling. _Why does he want me to think him mad?_ Raistlin wondered. Yet another mystery. Feeling is mouth curve into a smile, Raistlin thought, _perhaps I will enjoy my time here after all_.

Deciding that he would rather avoid the sure-to-be rambunctious celebrations of the new Gryffindors, he turned away from the portrait and headed in the opposite direction – towards the dungeons.

oOoOoOo

Draco Malfoy was lounging in the Slytherin common room, laughing with a few of his friends (or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say, children of his father's friends). He was startled to hear a voice whispering sibilantly from the wall behind him:

"Draco Malfoy, an Ancient and Moste Noble house would seek your council."

Glancing quickly around, he saw that no one else in the room had heard anything, although a few of his friends were giving him odd looks.

"Just thought of something, sorry, I've got to go..." Draco said, as he stood up and strode quickly through the portal.

Draco stepped out of the Slytherin portal, and stopped short; directly in front of him was Harry Potter, smiling faintly, as if he knew just how little Draco would want to see him again.

_Huh. Just what I need_. Draco thought, shoulders slumping. "What do you want now?"

"Just what I said. I need some advice." Raistlin answered. "Walk with me."

Shaking his head at his own folly, but unable to resist his curiosity about the boy-who-lived, Draco did so.

"As you are surely aware," Raistlin began, "I was sorted into Gryffindor house. Against, I might add, my own preference for Slytherin."

"I know" Draco said. "I shouldn't even be talking to you, really, so let's get this over with. What do you want?"

"In short, I need to know more about my fellow students. The majority of the purebloods were sorted into Slytherin, and I know nothing about the rest."

Draco remembered his fathers advice: "Never let someone else lead the conversation. If they try to, ask an off-topic question to take back control." Not realizing that Raistlin was beyond the need for such petty displays of dominance, he asked:

"How did you get that voice to me in the common room, anyway?"

"Magic. It is beyond you." Raistlin answered coolly. "The students?"

Feeling somehow cowed by the other boy's attitude, as well as his casual way of doing something Draco had thought impossible, Draco answered him honestly, explaining what he knew of the other students. Mentally, he was composing additions for the letter to his father he planned to send that night.

Unsurprisingly, Draco's knowledge was sketchy at best, although there were a few gems that Raistlin immediately saw would be useful to know about.

When he eventually reached the Gryffindor common room, the party was winding down, and Raistlin was able to slip into his dormitory without being noticed.

**A/N: **Come on people! Where are the reviews? I need FEEDBACK! What did you like? What did you not? What do you want to see more of? This is a learning experience, so let's have some constructive criticism! Or just compliments, whatever :p. I love hearing what other people think of the story.


	5. Chapter 5: The Realization

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Chapter 5: The Realization**

Whispers followed Raistlin wherever he went the next day, with people staring at him as he passed, and even the occasional nosy ghost trying to stop him. He dealt with the students (and the poltergeist) by ignoring them; the ghosts he walked straight through, as if he couldn't even see them.

Whenever anyone asked him about that, he made sure to act as if that was actually the case. This, along with his unique ability to always find his way through the castle, provoked a flurry of new rumours about him; rumours that Raistlin took a cynical delight in subtly encouraging.

He was finding Hogwarts a very different experience from his last time in a school. For one, he was physically no different than any of the other students. His aloof attitude, and the fact that few Slytherins (taking their lead from Draco) were willing to openly mock him, generated a healthy level of respect in the other students, but it was nothing like the fear and scorn he had known before.

Raistlin's first class in magic was charms, with Professor Flitwick. The diminutive professor was a humorous sight, so small that he had to stand on a pile of books just to see over his desk. If it were not for his slender figure, Raistlin would have suspected him of having dwarven blood.

This inauspicious first impression was further reinforced when the Professor was so thrilled to see Harry Potter on his class registry, that he gave an excited squeak and toppled over backwards. Raistlin would later be shocked to discover that Professor Flitwick was recognized as an internationally accomplished duellist, and considered one of the most dangerous wizards alive.

After a brief overview of the class, Flitwick apparently assuming that they would already know the basics (most likely true for the purebloods), they began practising a simple gluing charm.

Professor Flitwick chose it, he said, because it was both one of the simplest possible magics, which everyone should be able to get by the end of the class, as well as being useful in both everyday life and combat.

Raistlin began practise with a casual arrogance, confident that his years of experience would tell. With a flick of his wand, he drawled the incantation "_Conflatus"_. Nothing happened.

Flick. "_Conflatus"._ Nothing.

Flick. "_Conflatus"._ Nothing.

Flick. "_Conflatus"._ Nothing.

Raistlin was beginning to feel frustrated – glancing quickly around, he saw that several other students had already managed to glue their pebble to their desk, while his continued to wobble irritatingly. What was wrong?

Concentrating hard, Raistlin stepped through the spell again, paying close attention to the feel of his magic within him.

"_Conflatus"_ he said, and felt a faint stirring of power, but still nothing happened.

"Here" a voice said over his shoulder. Raistlin jumped, startled, and turned to see the bushy haired girl who had interrupted him on the train up.

"Look, you're saying it wrong," she said, "the incantation is con-_fla_-tus, not con-_flay-_tus. And you need to make the final wand movement in the middle of the last syllable, not at the end."

Not liking her attitude of superiority, but desperate enough to take her advice, Raistlin tried it.

Flick. "C_onflatus"_. The pebble froze, fastened tightly to the desk.

"Well done!" the girl said, smiling genially as she bustled off to help some other unfortunate.

Raistlin cast the spell again, and he could feel the magic moving through him. With an effort of his mind, he followed its path, guiding it.

Flick. _"Conflatus". _The magic flowed; down his arm, through his wand, and was formed, by his will and his words and his motion, into a matrix of energy trapping the stone in place.

_Clever_, he thought. He tried the spell again, but with just the wand motion this time; making an effort to guide the magic down the proper path with only his disciplined and focussed mind.

Flick. Silence. The pebble stuck briefly, and then loosened again. Raistlin could feel the effort of the spell; trying to force the energies into a coherent form took all his concentration, and he was reduced to chanting the incantation in his mind to make it work.

Still, it was progress; surely with more practice, he would be able to grasp the flow of magic more smoothly, and direct it where he wanted it to go. He might even be able to devise proper hand gestures to accompany it, allowing him to cast without need for the wand.

Before he knew it, the lesson was over, and Raistlin was on his way to his next class.

oOoOoOo

History with Professor Binns was uninteresting; being the only class taught by a ghost, who didn't have much of a grasp of current events, and so most of the class tended to sleep through his monotonous drone. Raistlin did not. Remembering how a knowledge of the past had helped him before, he spent the time flipping through his history text himself, picking out any parts of it that might bear further investigation.

In tremendous contrast to this, was Transfiguration – taught by the stern Professor McGonagall. She began by giving them a short lecture on the dangers of transfiguration, before transforming her desk into a pig.

"Who here can tell me whether this is a desk or a pig?" she asked.

Half the class raised their hands; McGonagall picked one of them, apparently at random, and they said that it was obviously a pig. Several students laughed, but the professor only frowned slightly and said "That is incorrect. Anyone else?"

By this time, the bushy-haired girl was practically bouncing in her seat, her arm stretched as high as she could raise it. Raistlin could see she was going to be a continual irritant to him, although this was leavened by the fact that she was usually right.

"Yes, Hermione, isn't it?" the Professor said.

"The answer to your question" Hermione said, looking very pleased with herself "is yes."

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Very good! Ten points to Gryffindor for an excellent answer. Do you know, I believe that you are the first person in my class ever to have answered that question correctly."

Raistlin was impressed himself that she had been able to answer the question. Although not wanting to volunteer himself, transfiguration was not all that different between here and Krynn, and he found he was able to anticipate most of what he was taught.

oOoOoOo

Walking through the winding halls of Hogwarts on his way between classes, Raistlin was slowed by the crowds of other students all going the same way. For being such a large building, Hogwarts could really seem remarkably small sometimes.

Raistlin was just about ready to find another path, when a familiar bushy-haired figure brushed past him, and Raistlin overheard a boy's voice.

"Serves her right, insufferable know-it-all." the boy laughed.

_Time to make an impression,_ Raistlin thought. Pushing his way through the crowd, Raistlin grabbed the boy who had spoken and thrust him hard against the corridor wall.

"_Who do you think you are?"_ Raistlin roared, inches from his face.

"R-Ron" the boy stuttered, then, rallying, "Get your hands off me!"

Releasing him, Raistlin stepped back, then lunged forward and slammed him hard against the wall again. Holding him in place, his face calm, Raistlin spoke again.

"You offended her. Apologize."

The boy struggled, but wasn't able to escape until, seeing his plight, the others in his group came forward to grab at Raistlin and rescue their friend.

Feeling them reach for him, Raistlin felt an unaccustomed surge of anger. _Who are these children, that they dare to lay a hand on ME?_

Allowing the rage to fill his body, Raistlin reached down, deep within himself where his magic lay quiescent. Over the last few days, Raistlin had put many hours of meditation towards gaining a better understanding and control of his magic, and he used that knowledge now. Drawing from that well of power, he allowed it to flow through his body, and out his arm, heating the air around his hand. Firecalling was a simple talent, a magic small enough that even on Krynn (where power was so much harder to access), he had been able to summon a flame with a thought.

Here, he wreathed his hand in energy, sending a scattering of sparks into the faces of his victims would-be rescuers, causing them to fall back in shock.

Turning back to the boy, Raistlin held his burning hand between them. Ron's terrified gaze focussed on the fire, and he seemed to freeze in horror. Under other circumstances, Raistlin would have taken a moment to laugh at the ridiculous expression on the boy's face. For now, the heat still burning within him would not allow him to relax enough to laugh, and he feared that once his anger dies, so too would his grip on his magic.

"She helped me." Raistlin said, "and I always pay my debts. You will find her. You will apologize. And then you will _never speak to her again._"

Ron didn't react, seeming frozen in horror, as if he hadn't even heard. Raistlin shook him, causing his eyes to snap back to Raistlins.

"Did you hear me?" Raistlin asked, in a tone of gentle interest.

"Y-yes I'll do it p-please whatever you say don't hurt me" the boy stammered.

Dropping him, Raistlin turned away, as if Ron was suddenly beneath his notice. He paid no attention to the sound of the boy fleeing.

Having taken place in a crowded corridor, the scene had attracted quite an audience, mostly fellow Gryffindors. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to cautious admiration, and on the faces of one or two, jealousy.

Ignoring them all, Raistlin turned and began to walk towards his next class.

He no longer needed to make any effort to force his way through the crush; the other students parted when they saw him coming. Raistlin smiled. It's the simple pleasures that make life worth living.

oOoOoOo

Friday came at last; the end of Raistlins first week at Hogwarts. It had been an eventful few days, to be sure, and he was learning more every day. He had already mastered two spells, three if you included the simple gluing charm from his first class, which unfortunately placed him squarely in the middle of the pack.

He took pride in the knowledge that he was the only student in their year able to cast the spells wordlessly, even if his two wasn't anywhere near Hermione how-the-hell-did-she-do-that Granger's eight. Not that he was jealous of her. Nor of Kevin hey-look-I-can-float-a-feather Entwhistle. Or of... well, he just wasn't. Really.

Raistlin had not yet earned any points for Gryffindor, either.

Hermione had earned fourteen.

Not that he was impressed.

Because he wasn't.

Really.

oOoOoOo

The last day of the week was also the day he had been least looking forward to, as it was the first Potions lesson of the term (the Wednesday class was cancelled this week). After Snape's vicious snarl at the sorting, Raistlin had been taking as much time as he could to study his Potions text, knowing how unlikely it was that he would learn anything useful in the class itself.

Harry arrived at the potions dungeon early; unlike the other students, he had no trouble finding his way, and he wanted a chance to look around before the rest of the students arrived. The Slytherins were going to be taking the class at the same time; it would be interesting to watch how Snape handled the mix.

Raistlin seated himself in the centre of the room. It seemed appropriate; not too far back, that would suggest fear, and not too close, as that would imply eagerness. He nodded to Draco when the other boy entered, and got a cautious nod in return; they hadn't spoken since their evening conversation on the first day.

Snape swept into the room like an overgrown bat, his stained robes and greasy hair making him look like a homeless beggar than a figure to be respected. Raistlin smiled to himself, this just might be fun!

Snape began the class with the standard roll call,pausing when he reached Raistlin's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity"

Raistlin stood, slowly.

"I hight Harry, Lord of the Ancient and Moste Noble House of potter. Who are you, to speak my name in such a tone of disrespect?"

Staring down at him, his eyes appearing bottomless wells of darkness, Snape's lip curled into a sneer.

"Lord Potter, is it? I will have you know, _lord_, that in **this** class you are nothing! Your title means nothing. Your name means nothing. You are but an incompetent child, who-"

As Snape ranted, harry felt a curious sensation sweeping over him; a soft flow of magic, that wrapped around him, flowing inward and somehow reflecting off the edges of his mind. Turning his focus inward, Raistlin examined the traceries of power as they glided against him, and was shocked to see that they were penetrating the layers of his mind.

Someone was attempting to study his memories, read his thoughts, and only the fact that, over the centuries, his mental discipline had become instinctive had so far stopped them. But how were they getting in? Raistlin followed the power back, through his eyes... _Snape._

Raistlin was abruptly furious._ How dare he? Try to read MY mind, steal MY memories, my magic!_

Raistlin wrenched his eyes down, away from Snape's, breaking the delicate contact. At the same time, he reached within himself, grasping all the power he had available, and pulling it up until it surrounded him like a mantle.

The very air seemed to vibrate with power; raising his hand, Raistlin let his power flow down his arm, concentrate in his palm. Soon he had a ball of roiling energy, ready to be cast forth to destroy this interloper.

"You. Will. -" Raistlin began.

In his anger, Raistlin had completely forgotten to use his wand. Snape, however, had not. With a flick of his wrist and a whispered _finite_, all the power that Raistlin had so painstakingly built up vanished.

Stunned, Raistlin reached for the energy that had surrounded him just a moment before; it was gone. Disappeared, as if it had never been. Raistlin was horrified, and felt a chill shiver of fear as he thought, _how did he do that?_

"Tut, tut." Snape said. "Fame clearly isn't everything. A point from Gryffindor for that cheek, potter, and another one for your shocking lack of self control."

Several students were looking at him, disappointed, having heard the rumours and expected more. Most of them seemed unaware of what had just taken place, but there were a few here and there who realised that they had just seen, not a display of accidental power, but wordless, wandless, magic, and were suitable impressed.

Raistlin remained quiet the rest of the day, struggling to regain his balance. Obviously there was a lot more to the power these people had, than he had seen so far.

oOoOoOo

_It's at times like this_, Raistlin thought, staring down at the hundred foot drop, _that I really miss the staff of Magius._

"Well, well" the older boy said, "not so high and mighty now, are you, "Lord" potter?"

_Honestly,_ Raistlin thought, _this is ridiculous. It's been less than a week, and Snape's already regained the use of his arms. It's not MY fault the old bat doesn't know to handle an angry dog, even if it does have three heads._

He didn't say anything though, recognizing that his tormentors were scarcely in a mood to be reasoned with.

"You want to know what I think?" the second boy asked. "I think that Mr potty is so high and mighty, he wants to be a bird!"

"You think we should teach him to fly?"

"That's a good idea! And hey, look, we're already at the top of a tower. What say we give him a hand?"

The boys advanced on him. Raistlin glanced at where his wand had fallen, measuring the distance. Not close enough. He started concentrating, trying to build his magic to a usable level. He was already drained, but all he needed now was a quick flash of power – enough to startle them, let him doge past so he could get away.

His heart burned at the thought of running from such as these, but they were older and stronger, and Raistlin had long since learned the futility of fighting back against bullies. He memorized their faces though. In time, they would pay, oh how they would pay, in hours of agony for every slight and bruise.

"_Stellig!" _a voice cried from the stairway. Raistlin felt a blinding pain rip through his body, but he was used to pain. He let it show, falling to his knees as if unable to stand, and tensing himself to leap for his wand, and then the door.

"aww, looks like poor widdle potty can't take the pain" one of the boys laughed. In the silence of his mind, Raistlin marked him for death.

"Maybe we should put him out of his misery?" the other boy offered, advancing closer.

_That's it... just a little closer..._Raistlin thought.

"_Petrificus–"_

Overruling his body, which wanted to curl up in a ball until the pain went away, Raistlin forced himself into motion. With a sudden lunge, he pushed past the shorter boy, causing the older one (who had turned automatically to follow him, all attention on maintaining his curse) to now be pointing straight at him.

The boy screamed; the spell was broken; and Raistlin grabbed his wand from the floor and leaped for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Jumping through a wall that wasn't there, Raistlin quickly lost his pursuers, and continued on a more sedate pace. He had an appointment in the library.

For the past month, Raistlin had been spending every free moment (plus some of the more boring lessons) poring over the books in the library, trying to figure out the basis of magic. He knew there had to be some rules, but so far all the book he had come across described only how to cast spells, not how to create them.

It didn't help that most of the library books were centuries old anyway; it seemed that very little new books had been written, except for biographies and histories, since at least the eighteenth century. He also found tantalising hints about a distinction between "dark" and "light" magic, but no real guides.

On the whole, it was infuriating.

"God, Harry, you look like death warmed over." Hermione exclaimed, as Raistlin came in sight of her.

"Who was it this time? Get their names?" Draco asked.

"Does it matter? They're not long for this world, I assure you."

Hermione frowned at that. "You shouldn't joke about things like that, Harry. You need to tell a professor! This is getting out of hand."

Draco smiled slightly at Hermione's naivety. But then, he had seen what Raistlin was capable of. Snape would never look at a daisy the same way again...

The third member of their little study group, Neville, didn't say anything. He didn't have the strong opinions the others did, but anything Raistlin did was OK by him. After Raistlin had made an example of the one person who had tried to pick on him, everyone else had left him alone, and for the first time in his life he was able to relax.

"By the way, Draco, I think I've got an idea on how to make that charm you wanted, but I'm going to need a little help."

"Of course you do Potter, you know you're hopeless without me. What do you need? More snakeskin?"

"No, this time I've got my eye on a more... literary prize." Raistlin flicked his eyes towards the Restricted Section. Draco caught the direction of his glance, and paled; there was a very good reason none of the students tried to read those books.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, not having noticed. "I was sure you must have read half the library by now, you read almost as fast as I do!"

"Indeed. I'm looking for a particular book of genealogy," Raistlin lied smoothly, "which isn't in the library. But, the Malfoy's being such an old pureblood line, I'm sure they would have a copy."

The girl seemed satisfied with that, and didn't ask any more details.

That night, Raistlin crept out of bed as soon as he was sure the rest of the Gryffindors were fast asleep, and stepped softly down the stairs. As silent as the grave, he saw no one was in the common room, and began to relax. When he stepped through the door at the bottom of the stairs, he felt the faintest brush of magic against him.

Instantly, he froze, but it was too late; he grabbed for the magic, only to feel it stream past him, a tiny spark in the night. Hurriedly, he rushed to the portrait hole, hoping to get through before whoever had set the warning spell could arrive to stop him.

Hermione Granger stepped in front of him, scowling fiercely.

"What do you think you're doing, sneaking out in the middle of the night? You'll get in so much trouble!" she whispered.

"Not unless I get caught. Stand aside." Raistlin commanded.

"No!" Hermione said, in a louder tone of voice.

"I'm not letting you past. And if you try and push by me, I'll... I'll... scream! That's right. Then you'll get detention, but we won't lose any house points."

Worried that at any moment someone else might wake up, Raistlin stepped to the side so that he could keep an eye on both the stairs and the raging girl.

"Hermione. You have helped me in the past, but our debts have all been paid. We both know I am the only one standing between you and the rest of the school, so you will step aside, now, before I decide you have become an inconvenience."

"Oh, and what are you going to do? Hex me? You haven't even got your wand out!" Hermione said, now pointing her own wand at him. "Besides, we both know I know more spells than you."

Raistlin suddenly smiled. Hermione might know more spells, but Raistlin knew something she didn't. Raistlin knew what Neville's footsteps sounded like. He flexed his hands, allowing his magic to flow from him, creating a wall of silence between the girl and the stairs.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

Hermione froze, her arms and legs locked in position, as she fell to the floor.

"Sleep well, Hermione. And remember – you may know more spells, but I can cast them wordless and wandless, so think twice before you get in my way again."

Motioning Neville to silence, Raistlin waved him ahead, and they left Gryffindor tower together.

"That was well done Neville, I owe you one."

"Anytime, Harry!" Neville grinned. He didn't know where they were going, but he was off on a midnight adventure, which was something he knew he would never have had the courage to do on his own. Since meeting Raistlin, he felt like he had become a whole new person! It was sometimes scary, but usually fun, and he knew that as long as he made sure that it was always clear whose side he was on, Raistlin would stop anything bad from happening to him.

oOoOoOo

"Lord Potter. I see you brought a pet"

"Draco. I see you left yours behind."

Indeed, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, Draco's usual hangers-on, were not to be seen, which was all to the good as far as Raistlin was concerned. He had long since forbidden them from being in his presence. At first, Draco had objected, but Raistlin simply ignored him.

Draco knew full well that if he tried any more... forceful.. methods of attracting attention, Raistlin could technically claim that he had "given offence to a Noble Lord", a crime with some fairly stiff penalties. He wasn't sure if the Wizengamot would support an accusation like that, but Dumbledore would certainly take the side of the non-Malfoy, and things could get messy.

His father had made clear the importance of gaining Harry Potter's trust, and so Draco had refrained, and now whenever he spent time with Raistlin, his two lackeys waited outside the room.

Raistlin had no trouble guiding them to the library, and avoiding any other nightly wanderers. The disturbance in the flow of magic through the corridors gave Raistlin enough warning that he would easily avoid whoever caused it, and he was sure that no one else could sense the flow of power like he could. Thankfully the centuries of magic being practised within had built up a heavy layer of ambient magic, otherwise even he might not have been able to feel it.

Reaching the library, Raistlin set Neville to watch the entrance, and warn them if anyone came.

"The books here are protected by layers of wards, to which only professors have the key." Raistlin explained. "I will temporarily raise them, allowing you to pass through, and retrieve a book. Do not attempt to open it."

"I can do that." Draco nodded seriously. "What book?"

"It is called _Magicke Moste Foule_" Raistlin said, wondering to himself what it was with wizards and the letter 'e'. "The few references I have been able to find, imply that this one in particular may hold the key I need."

Bracing himself, Raistlin reached deep into his mind, bringing forth his magic. Opening his senses, he felt the wards surrounding him, singing with energy. He touched the first layer of the defences, lightly bringing his own power into contact with them. The first layer was a basic block, to prevent anyone accidentally getting too close. It felt like a wall of glass. With a touch of his own power, Raistlin turned the glass to water, letting it spread open before him.

He reached in, to touch the next layer of wards. These were sharper, harder, like barbed wire entwined with shards of broken glass. He touched them with his magic, and felt them resonate against him. These wards would not be so easily bypassed.

Raistlin closed his eyes, and begin to chant.

"_Bareth Mai. Bareth Sek."_

He felt the blood pulsing through his body, as the magic flowed around him. With each beat of his heart, he let the magic pulse. _Beat. Beat._ _Beat_. The blood within, the magic without, moving in time with one another.

"_Bareth Mai. Bareth Sek."_

The sharp edge of the wards pressed against, a thousand tiny shards digging into his flesh. _Beat. Beat._ His heart pulsed. The magic flowed. He directed it through him; let it infuse him, sink into his own power and become one with him.

"_Bareth Mai. Bareth Sek."_

The chant drawn from him in a ragged whisper, the rush of his blood rearing in his ears, the power burning through his body like fire, as he hung suspended in agony for an eternity. _Beat. Beat._ His heart pulsed. His magic flowed. The wards, which were a part of Hogwarts itself, surrendered to him.

"_Mine."_

Raistlin claimed the wards. An ancient structure of magic, laid down many years ago, supported by the castle itself, was now his, if only for so long as he held them. Raistlin commanded, and they obeyed, as he strained himself to the limits of his flesh – and beyond – to control them.

With a quick gesture, he sent Draco forward to claim the book. Then Raistlin lowered the wards back into place, but before he released them, he sent a pulse of magic through them, to wash out any trace of his presence. No one must know that he had been here. The books were covered in dust; with any luck, no one would even know that one had been taken.

After releasing the wards, the last of his energy left him, and Draco had to help him to a nearby chair. Satisfied with his accomplishment, Raistlin allowed the surrounding darkness to enfold him.

oOoOoOo

Draco, heir of the Ancient and Moste Noble House of Malfoy, who had been tutored by the finest teachers (in both light and dark magics) that his father had been able to afford, was shocked.

_How is it possible?_ He wondered. _No one_ _should be able to break a ward like that!_ Draco had never heard of someone being able to bypass a ward without breaking it, much less anyone doing so without using a wand.

When Raistlin had started chanting, it felt like the whole room was shifting. Each incantation, filling the air with a feeling of power, of violence, controlled and directed. Not even his father, who Draco privately considered the most powerful wizard alive, had ever generated an aura like that. And this boy did it so casually! _Who was Harry Potter?What kind of child has THIS much power?_

Draco thought back to the letter he had received from his father, at the beginning of the term.

_Draco,_

_ You knew that Harry Potter would be here this year; You knew that he somehow defeated the Dark Lord when only a child. Is it any wonder that he has power? You must get close to him. Do anything in your power to help him; put him in your debt. If you must, swear service to him, let him think he has swayed you to his side. In time, the Lord WILL rise again, and our star will rise with him. You must prepare the boy for that day, for he will be our gift to the Lord, that we may return to the fold with honor. The potter child may seem strong to you, but remember, he is only a child, with a child's comprehension. Have no fear, my son, the victory of our Lord is inevitable. You have only to earn the child's trust, that you may betray him to our Lord at the proper moment._

...

Draco felt a cold shiver run down his back, and was glad he had burned the letter after reading it. Knowing what Raistlin was capable of, the idea of betraying him was suddenly worrying, and Draco started to wonder whether he might be on the wrong side of this war.

Then Draco had an idea. He wasn't the first person to find himself conflicted. During the last war, Snape managed to work both sides against each other, and was richly rewarded by both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Maybe he could do something like that? Worth thinking about, anyway.

oOoOoOo

As dawn's gentle light first touched the hoary old stones of the ancient castle, a young boy came awake with a start. The moment he regained consciousness, Raistlin jerked upright, feverish with excitement. A quick glance out the window showed that there were hours yet before anyone else would be up.

Reaching into the bag by his bed, Raistlin pulled forth his newest acquisition. Stroking it with a thrill of gleeful anticipation, his heart beat fast within him. _Knowledge. Power. Magic._ He could almost taste it.

Reverantly, he opened the book. Touching it lightly with his power, he lifted the protective spells from it, silencing them with a thought. This book had perhaps the weakest defences of any in the restricted section, for it was not a book of spells, but a book of theory.

Studying it, he began to pore through the tome. It had been written in Latin, but Raistlin was no stranger to foreign languages, and Latin was nothing like as difficult as Draconic. He set to work translating it, and quickly came across a most interesting passage.

"_...for as Blood is the life of Man, so is Magic the life of the World. With our wands and incantations, we siphon off but a tiny fraction of the Breathe of the Earth, perverting it for our own use. This, then, is a debt that must be paid; Blood for Blood, Life for Life, ….."_

So. This was the secret the "light" magicians were so keen to cover up. Shutting the book with a snap, Raistlin pondered. True power came from sacrifice; but then, Raistlin had always know that. He was reminded of the words of one of his earliest teachers.

"_The magic is in the blood, it flows from the heart. Every time you use it, part of yourself goes with it. Only when you are prepared to give of yourself, and receive nothing back will the magic work for you"_

Perhaps... Perhaps he had made a mistake. Perhaps he had been too eager to apply the years of experience he carried from his past, and had failed to appreciate the lessons of the present. It was a common arrogance among the old, to believe that they had seen everything there was to see. Raistlin had never considered that he might be prey to it, but maybe he had been overconfident.

It was something to consider.

And so, lost in thought, he absently concealed the book within his robes and followed the other students down to breakfast.

oOoOoOo

Hermione Grange was not found until after noon, when the Weasley twins needed to move one of the couches for a prank, and found her stuffed, frozen, behind it. Somehow, despite her fixed expression, the twins swore they could feel her rage. Not wanting to risk her wrath themselves, they hurried off to get a Professor to undo the spell. Putting her carefully back where they found her, of course, just (so they assured her) so that she wouldn't be bothered by anyone else until Professor McGonagall arrived to undo it.

By then, Hermione was in a spitting rage, and immediately began ranting furiously – and at full volume – about "That Harry-Bloody-Potter, who the hell does he think he is? Just leaving me there like that – I could have starved to death!"

Shocked, McGonagall took a moment to respond.

"Ms. Granger! Are you saying that Harry Potter did this?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying!" Hermione replied, arms waving stalking back and forth. "And when I see him, I'll... I'll... Well, I'll just do something, that's what I'll do!" she roared, hands clutching the air as if she cold strange the boy through sheer force of will.

Her voice being clearly audible throughout Gryffindor Tower, a crowd began to gather. Deciding on the better part of valour, McGonagall retreated, practically dragging Hermione with her.

By the time they reached the Headmaster's Office, Hermione had started to calm down, and was now seething quietly beside her.

"Liquorice Wands" McGonagall said, and the lifelike gargoyles jumped aside for her. Arriving at the top, Hermione strode past her to the middle of the room. The headmaster, dressed in a neon green robe and wearing an equally bright orange fez, was calmly smiling at her, a twinkle in his eyes.

"I demand that you DO something about that boy!"

Now that she was actually here, standing in front of the worlds greatest wizard, surrounded by portraits of past headmasters and uncountable mysterious inventions, she felt her anger deflate further.

"Goodness me, what has the little scamp been up to? McGonagall, if you would be so kind?" Dumbledore asked, and McGonagall left, closing the door behind her.

"He petrified me. Last night. Then he just LEFT me there, all night, and all today as well! I don't think he even planned to ever unfreeze me!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Hermione, I think there is something you had best know about Harry Potter. I know how close you two have been, and it pains me to see such a little thing come between you."

"Little thing? You call being frozen and abandoned a little thing? Besides, we were never that close anyway, really..." The silence surrounding her here seemed almost accusing. This was the man who defeated Grindelwald, who fought he-who-must-not-be-named to a standstill, who was she to question him? She felt his eyes catch hers, a piercing blue that seemed to see straight through her.

"My dear girl," Dumbledore sighed again, looking very grave as he peered at her over his half moon spectacles, "Harry Potter has not had a happy childhood. I am sure he would not have told you this himself; but then, he has never spoken of his younger years, has he?"

"No, he hasn't" Hermione answered, already beginning to suspect where this was going, and not liking it one bit.

"Indeed. You have heard, perhaps, of the 'room of little comfort'?"

"They didn't!"

"Oh yes, and worse. Starved, beaten, abused... If I had only known. Alas, and to my everlasting regret, I am sorry to say I had no idea until he arrived here. What courage that boy must have!"

Hermione struggled to retain her anger, but it was too easy to imagine. To someone who had suffered so much, a few hours of discomfort must seem like nothing. The old mans eyes bored into her, and she felt the weight of his gaze, like a shadow on her soul. Of course Harry didn't mean to hurt her. He probably didn't even realize she would be upset. What was her pain, compared to his own?

"At last, he made his way to Hogwarts, where he was welcomed. I had hoped, that he would find a home here, but it seems he is having difficulty adapting to normal interactions. What he really needs, Hermione, is a friend. Someone who will be there for him, help him, guide him to the path of Light."

Hermione nodded. Of course she would help him. How, she wondered could she have been so selfish? She needed to be there for him. To help him find his way. It all made perfect sense. The headmaster was wise. She would listen to the headmaster. The headmaster made perfect sense. Harry Potter needed her. She would guide him to the path of Light.

At a knock on the door, the headmaster turned away from her, and she felt the room spin around her. The disorientation faded quickly though, and she felt as if she had awakened from a strange dream, her thoughts of only moments ago as distant and alien as if they belonged to someone else.

Suddenly she noticed there was someone else in the room, and realized they must have entered while she was thinking. It was Professor McGonagall and Harry Potter.

"Harry, my dear boy, come in, come in. Have a seat, why don't you?" Dumbledore smiled kindly as he gestured with his wand a a pair of oversized armchairs appeared in front of his desk.

McGonagall remained standing by the door, but Raistlin took a seat. Glacing between Hermione and Dumbledore, he frowned slightly and asked, "Am I in some kind of trouble?"

"That is as may be, Mr. Potter. Ms. Granger here has come to me with a most disturbing tale. Apparently, you froze her in a full body bind last night, and never bothered returning to remove the curse."

"I'm sorry sir, I know it's completely unforgivable, but I'm afraid I forgot about her. You see, I thought the curse would wear off on it's own, and I was so tired I didn't think to check on her."

"I quite understand, you have had quite an exciting few weeks! Still, we cannot have lax discipline. I think a fair punishment will be... hmm, a week's detention seems fair. You will report to Professor McGonagall immediately following your last lesson today, and after each of your next four days as well. Let this be a lesson to you; no hexing your friends!"

With a nod and word of thanks, Dumbledore dismissed McGonagall and Hermione, but shook his head slightly when Harry got up to go.

"You have a good friend there and true, dear boy. If it wasn't for her arguing on your behalf, well, you would have earned a good bit more than a weeks detention!"

Raistlin looked at the ground, suppressing his disgust at the old fools condescension and trying to appear shamefaced.

"Would you care to explain to me what you were doing out of bed at that hour anyway?"

Raistlin had thought bout this, guessing the reason for his summons, and decided to try a little manipulation of his own.

"Sir, it was Draco, sir, Draco Malfoy. He, well, he asked for my help. And he's been so kind to me, sir, what was I to do? Without him to tell me about the magical world, I really would be lost."

"And what did Draco want with you?"

"He, um, he asked me to get him something from Snape's private potions cupboard. He said he would distract Snape this evening, and I'd get it for him."

Dumbledore nodded to him to continue. "And what was it he asked you to get?"

"Lacewing larvae, sir. But Hermione interrupted me, and I didn't get it, and I'm so worried he won't be my friend any more, and now neither will she..."

Raistlin's shoulders shook from silent laughter. He hoped the headmaster would assume he was holding back tears, after all he was hitting the 'poor orphan' bit rather hard. Then again, the old fool was buying it!

"Do not worry, Harry. I rather think that Draco will forgive you, and I know that Hermione already has. In fact... I had not intended to give this to you until Christmas, but, it seems you may have need of it before then."

Reaching into his desk, Dumbledore brought out a small parcel and handed it to Raistlin.

"This was left to me by your father, to hold in trust for you. I have faith you will not abuse it."

Opening the parcel, Raistlin was astonished to find a soft cloak, comprised of some sort of smooth, silky cloth, that slipped through his fingers like water. He could feel the magic thrumming through it at his touch; it seemed eager, almost as if it recognized him somehow. There was a shadow about it, that seemed somehow familiar.

Raistlin looked up at the headmaster, suddenly desperate to be alone to examine his newest acquisition. First the book, then the cloak... this was turning out to be quite a day!

Seeing his look and misinterpreting it, Dumbledore smiled fondly. "Off you go them, back to class! And do try to stay out of trouble..."

oOoOoOo

**A/N:** At last, we're off the rails! The classroom scenes at the start of this chapter are the last time we will be following the plot of the book – from here on out, it's all original! Enjoy :)


	6. Chapter 6: The Choice

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Chapter 6: The Choice**

Raistlin was in the library, studying a book on goblin magic (which, being four centuries old, was rather a difficult read) when he overheard a couple of girls discussing, of all things, _him._

"I think he's kind of cute."

"No way! He's so serious all the time. Booo-ring. I want a guy who can make me laugh"

"But he's so tormented and brooding, you can just tell he's thinking deep thoughts. _I_ want a guy who'll take me seriously."

"Tormented? Don't you mean dark? I can just imagine him getting home of an evening – 'Hi honey, I spent the day torturing my enemies into madness, what's for dinner?'"

Giggles.

"Honestly, I don't know how he got into Gryffindor, honestly."

"Well, maybe he's light, just pretending to be dark?"

"Nu-uh. He's totally dark. Maybe he's dark pretending to be light pretending to be dark."

"Wouldn't the sorting hat have seen that?"

Sound of footsteps. A chair scraping. A boy's voice spoke with quiet enthusiasm.

"You want to know what I heard? I heard he was actually sorted into Hufflepuff, but then he ran around and obliviated everyone into thinking it was Gryffindor, but my friend Ernie was in the loo, so he missed him, and now he's the only one that knows the truth!"

Hermione's clear show of support for him, after her loud denunciation in Gryffindor tower, had had a rather peculiar effect on the others student's perceptions of him. Particularly, when all she would say on the matter, is that harry "needed a friend". Speculation ran rampant, and no one quite knew what to make of the mysterious boy-who-lived.

Raistlin was quite pleased with the situation. When you walk in the shadows, neither the Light nor the Dark are your foes, and the Hogwarts bullies had almost entirely withdrawn in confusion, allowing Raistlin to pursue his studies in peace.

Tomorrow was the 31st of October. Know to muggles as Halloween, to the wizarding world (or at least the wizarding world of Britain), it was now universally referred to as "Harry Potter day".

This, Raistlin was not pleased to hear. The last thing he wanted was a day of celebration at which he would be expected to be the centre of attention, and so he decided, quite simply, not to attend. His first thought was that he should come up with some reasonable explanation for his absence. If nothing else, he was accomplished at feigning injury, and could probably convince Madam Pomfrey to get him out of class. On further consideration, he realised that none of the staff would care enough to hunt him down, and he probably wouldn't be missed until the next day at the very least – at which point, of course, he would reappear as if nothing had happened. Yes, that seemed like the most sensible approach.

So, Raistlin took a stack of books, his new cloak (which he had not yet had a chance to study in detail), and headed deep into the bowels of Hogwarts. Barely a fraction of the castle was in active use, and so it was not difficult to find an empty classroom where the dust lay thick, showing it had long been undisturbed.

oOoOoOo

The hours flew past in a subjective instant, as Raistlin immersed himself in study of the cloak. At first he had planned only to examine it briefly, but the more he inspected it, the more interested he became.

This cloak was no ordinary tarncape; for one thing, it was transparent from within, while making its wearer completely invisible. More then that, it made the wearer not just invisible, but _hidden_, an entirely different and more complicated thing.

He also discovered that it wasn't able to cover just himself. He could drape it over a chair, and as long as he did so with the _intention_ of concealing it, the cloak would activate itself and make the chair invisible.

Although Raistlin didn't know any spells for magical detection, he was able to sense the flow of magic around and through the cloak. When not being worn, it acted like a normal article of clothing; he waved it through the air, and could sense the minute alterations in the flow of magic as it passed. When active, however, even that stilled.

He projected an unfocussed wave of magic, and it washed straight through the space where the cloak was. He even gathered his energy, and cast a simple ray spell – a color change charm, specifically. This appeared as a faintly coloured beam, shone right through the space where the cloak covered chair was, and turned a small section of the wall directly behind it pale blue.

So. The cloak allowed spells to pass through it, presumably a measure to prevent the wearer being detected by magic. Raistlin wondered if it would also block spells that were not used for detection, such as transfiguration or conjuration. Unfortunately, the only targeted spells he could think of required a living target, and he knew he didn't have the power for conjuration. He put the thought aside to try later, when he could acquire a... volunteer.

At the very least, it would almost certainly allow him to pass freely through wards that relied on detection, such as those surrounding the restricted section of the school library. That was a relief; Raistlin hated having to rely on anyone, and the thought of having to go to Draco for help again the next time he needed a book, well, it was just better that he could now go it alone.

There was something else about the cloak though, something oddly familiar. When he wore it, he had a strange sense of recognition, as if he was in the presence of an old friend. Or rather, perhaps, a cherished enemy. Fascinated by the artifact, Raistlin continued his studies.

oOoOoOo

Hermione was worried. She knew that Harry needed her, and that it was desperately important that she be there for him (if only she could remember why), but she couldn't find him.

He wasn't at breakfast.

He wasn't in any of the classes.

He wasn't at lunch.

By the time of the Great Feast in the evening, she was nearly frantic with worry. Neville was doing his best to calm her down, although even he was wondering where Harry might have got to.

When Quirrell burst into the room, gasping his warning about a troll in the dungeons, Hermione shot out of her seat like it was on fire and raced form the room, Neville only a few steps behind her.

_Harry needs me to guide him to the light,_ Hermione thought, _so he must be somewhere dark. That means he's somewhere with no windows, and that isn't used any more so there are no magical lights. He must be in the dungeons!_

So she raced away downwards, Neville huffing and puffing after her. Never in the best of shape, He found himself wishing he had spent less time reading and more time exercising.

Hermione was slowing down. While still filled with the urge to find Harry, her young body was not in much better shape than Neville's, and she was running out of energy. Catching her up, Neville gasped at her "Hermione, slow down! I know how to find Harry."

Turning abruptly, Hermione grabbed his shoulders.

"Where is he? I have to find him. Do you know where he is?"

It was obvious that something was badly wrong with his friend, but whatever it was, Neville had complete faith that Harry would be able to fix it. The thought of going to an adult never even crossed his mind. Taking Hermione by the hand, he marched up to a nearby portrait – Hogwarts was filled with them, and this one was of a blue robed wizard asleep in an armchair.

"Horace Vandermere!" Neville said, reading the name inscribed under the picture, "We need to find Harry Potter – it's an emergency! Can you help us?"

"Hmph, waking me up after all these years, and not even a word of apology." the protrait said, "No young man, you're on your own, now buzz off and let me rest."

"How is that supposed to help? He's just a picture, anyway." Hermione asked, a little of her old self resurfacing.

"Portrait, not a picture, and portraits in the castle can all move freely between each other. That wizard, if he wanted to, could visit every other portrait in the castle within a couple of hours, and then we'd know the last time Harry was seen by one of them. That would give us an idea of where he is. If only we can find one willing to help!"

oOoOoOo

Raistlin felt a disturbance in the school's magic. Extending his senses, he sensed a ripple spreading through the wards, as if some enormous magic had recently been exercised to disrupt them. Shrugging his shoulders, he returned to his studies. No business of his.

oOoOoOo

"Wow, a troll in the dungeons!" the red haired boy said to his twin brother, "finally, a bit of excitement." He rolled his eyes, and the twins exchanged an identical grin as they followed the rest of the Gryffindors back up to their common room.

"You know, I wonder where Hermione and Neville went in such a hurry? It's not like them to go running off like that."

"At least, not with Potter nowhere to be seen."

"Wonder where he was all day?"

Sharing another glance, the twins expressions split into identical mischievous smiles.

"There's only one way -"

"- to find out!"

They said to each other, as they quietly slipped down a side corridor away from the group, one of them pulling a scrap of parchment from his pocket as he did so.

Tapping the parchment with his wand, he whispered "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." At once, thin lines of ink spread out from his wand, forming a perfect map of Hogwarts. Moving on the picture were hundreds of tiny dots, each with a little name written under them.

"Ooh, look, the troll's name is 'Ugh'" one of the twins said.

"And see, there's Harry, all on his lonesome, and Hermione and Neville -"

"- down in the dungeons? What are they doing there?" The twins shared a look of surprise.

"This looks to me like -"

"- an opportunity!"

The red haired twins, known to their mother as Fred and George Weasley, and to the rest of the world as "Them" and "Those Two", could never resist a mystery. And if they happened to learn something that could come in handy later, well, that was just a bonus.

oOoOoOo

Raistlin sighed. He was getting tired, and the words were beginning to blur together in front of him. He decided to give it another hour before going to bed, they were probably just finishing the feast now anyway, and he wanted to give the after party a chance to die down.

oOoOoOo

The two dots labelled 'Hermione Granger' and 'Neville Longbottom' were now moving much more slowly, and appeared to be stopping every few minutes. Moving at a fair approximation of a jog, the twins managed to catch them up without too much difficulty, but decided to follow them for a bit, unseen, to try and figure out what they were up to.

Hermione and Neville seemed to be moving in pretty much a straight line, so the twins ran ahead of them, and found a shadowed nook to conceal themselves in. Disillusionment was still beyond them, but they were getting fairly good at notice-me-not spells, and used them now.

Their prey drew closer, halting no more than a half dozen feet away. They were looking at something on the wall; the twins couldn't make it out from this angle.

"Have you seen Harry Potter? Do you know where he is? Can you help us find him?" Hermione asked, her voice urgent.

"No, sorry, can't help you there" The portrait answered. "I haven't seen another person since, oh, must be twenty years ago! I don't suppose you would care to stay and chat?"

But Hermione had already moved on, tugging Neville along with her.

"Come again soon!" The portrait called at their retreating backs.

"Well, that was interesting." the twins said.

"I wonder what's so important that they find him now? Think he has something to do with the troll?"

"Wouldn't put it past him," the other twin responded darkly, "still, you know there's only one way to find out."

"Go directly to the source."

The twins took out their map again. Harry Potter hadn't moved.

"So, Harry then?"

"No, if he knew they were looking for him they wouldn't be lost. Whatever this is, he didn't start it."

"Unless he wanted them to be lost..." The twins looked at each other. The twins had never succeeded in pranking Harry, but Lee had. After seeing what Harry did to him, the twins had stopped trying – they now had a healthy respect for him, and no interest in confronting him alone.

oOoOoOo

Neville was scared. Hermione Granger was shaking and muttering to herself, her questioning of the portraits becoming more and more frantic.

"Neville, this isn't working, we have to do something else. It's getting darker, I can _feel_ it getting darker, we have to find him!"

Neville stared at her helplessly. _If only Harry was here, he'd know what to do!_

"Perhaps we can help?"

After an instants startlement, Neville recognized the speakers who had just appeared in the middle of an otherwise empty corridor.

"How did you-" Neville began, but was interrupted by Hermione, who rushed up to the twins, grabbing one of them and peering intently into this face.

"Do you know where Harry Potter is? He needs me, I have to find him!"

Taking a step back in response to her sudden assault, the twin spoke with a smile.

"Yes, we know where he is. Why do you need to find him?"

"You have to take me to him! There's so much dark, he needs me to help him find the light. Can't you see it? I have to help him!"

"Calm down Hermione, we're going to Harry now." Neville said soothingly, his hand on her shoulder.

"Please, Fred, George, you can see there's something wrong with her. I don't know what it is, but if anyone can help her, Harry can."

The twins were sceptical of this pronouncement. Harry wasn't know for his altruism. Nevertheless, they were Gryffindors through and through – and here they were, with a real life damsel in distress!

Moving one on each side of her, the twins each grabbed one of Hermione's arms. At some unseen signal, they lifted together, hoisting her in the air so that here feet hovered inches above the ground.

"Twins Away!" they called out, rushing off down the hallway as fast as they could manage, Hermione frozen with shock between them.

Shaking his head at their antics, Neville rushed to join them. _Those Two._

oOoOoOo

The door slammed open with a crash, and Raistlin jumped to his feet, wand in his hand, the words to a defensive spell on his lips. When he saw who it was – Neville and Hermione with two redheaded boys he vaguely recalled were Gryffindors – he almost choked.

"WHATdo you want?" Raistlin snarled, wand still raised, and feeling no need to reign in his anger at being so rudely interrupted. Before he had even finished his sentence, Hermione rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him.

"I'm so glad I found you! The dark is everywhere, quickly, we have to go, I have to guide you to the light."

"I'm sorry Raistlin, but she's been getting more and more frantic all day. She keeps saying she needs to get to you, to help you 'find the light' or some such."

Extracting himself with some difficulty, Raistlin walked over to the nearest wall. Leaning against it, he brought his magic in contact with the power concealed within the castle. The whole of Hogwarts was filled with so much energy, it was practically alive, and it was far easier to manipulate this power than it was to try to cast something himself.

Muttering something unintelligible, Raistlin flicked his wand at the ceiling (to disguise the fact that he had not actually cast anything), and ordered the castle to provide light. Instantly the room was filled with a bight glow, as if they stood outside on a sunny day. The twins flinched back, covering their eyes, while Hermione simply stood, looking confused.

"There, look, we've found the light, it's ok now." Neville said, ineffectually tugging on her sleeve. Turning a beseeching expression to Raistlin, he begged "Please, there's something wrong with her, is there anything you can do?"

Raistlin sighed in irritation, but was actually quite happy with this turn of events. His studies were getting nowhere, he thought a break might be exactly what he needed, and this looked to be quite interesting. Walking forward, he gently guided Hermione to the ground, where she sat, her eyes flicking back and forth restlessly and making the occasional vague movement.

Paying no attention to his audience, Raistlin sat down in front of her and carefully placed his fingertips against her forehead, allowing himself to sink into a trance. Minutes passed, but when the twins shifted, bored, the were fiercely shushed into silence by Neville, who had taken it upon himself to stand guard over Raistlin while he worked.

Raistlin had never practised mind magic before. He had never had a need to, and so he was at a loss as to where to begin. Concentrating on his power, he began by sensing the energy moving around and between them. He could feel Hermione's magic, the energy filling her body, and suppressed a surge of jealousy that she had so much more than he did.

Raistlin briefly wondered whether it would be possible to take her power for himself, but dismissed the thought for consideration later. He had a task already before him, and his intellectual curiosity would not allow him to be easily distracted. As he slowly worked his way through her aura, tiny strands of energy weaving through the unfocussed miasma that surrounded her, Raistlin spotted something a little bit off.

Infesting her brain, there was a fine network of energy, a spell, with a different magical signature. Raistlin could see that it was some kind of geas, although without penetrating her mind he was not able to see where it came from, or exactly how it was hooked into her thoughts. He could, however, determine the directives. There were three.

_Believe that Harry Potter means you no harm_

_You are Harry Potters friend. Be there for him._

_Guide Harry Potter towards the light_

It was this last that was causing confusion. Obviously whoever had set this spell failed to realize that Hermione, being muggle-born, would take the word "light" literally. This error was compounded when that literal interpretation was extended to "be there", causing Hermione to try and hunt him down, so that she could guide him towards the light... What a mess. Raistlin wondered who could be responsible for this. Ah well, Hermione would be able to tell him, once he undid the spell.

Hmm. Actually, this wasn't just one geas with three aspects; it appeared that it was actually three separate spells. They were each impressively delicate and finely cast. Odds were, if it wasn't for that confusion about the word "light", neither Hermione nor anyone else would ever have noticed anything amiss.

This sent a light frisson of fear down Raistlin's spine. Whoever had cast these spells was clearly a master. Raistlin knew that, even at the height of his power, he would be hard pressed to do anything this precise, especially without his target noticing. The spells themselves were near perfect; it was only the interaction with the third command that was causing the problem.

With a soft touch, Raistlin shifted the energies of the third spell slightly, allowing it to unbalance itself completely and dissipate. Leaving the other two alone, he withdrew from her mind.

Hermione was staring at the glowing ceiling, her thoughts warring within her. Suddenly, she felt a stab of pain through her head, and was suddenly back in the Headmasters office, feeling once more Dumbledore's heavy gaze. Only this time, his words grated against her.

"**...guide him to the path of Light..."**

Each word thundered in her head, accompanied by a burst of pain, as she felt whatever compulsion he had woven around her unravelling. Broken from her reverie, Hermione came to with a burst of rage, surfacing in time to hear Raistin speaking.

"-eased the spell that was binding you; can you tell me now who cast it on you?" Raistlin asked.

"That bastard!" Hermione bellowed, struggling to her feet, still shaky. "That bloody bastard! I'll have his guts for garters!"

"Who? Who was it?" Raistlin asked again, his gaze fixed intently on her.

"Dumbledore, that's who!" Hermione almost screamed, suddenly turning and pointing straight at Raistlin.

"You! You got rid of his spell, you're the only one in this whole godforsaken magical world who doesn't love the bloody asshole. I know you'll go up against him eventually. Promise that you'll let me to be the one to kill him, and I swear I'll serve you all my life in thanks!"

This was a rather more exuberant response than Raistlin expected, or for that matter wanted, but he could immediately see the advantages here. Standing next to her, Raistlin reached forward and drew Hermione's wand from her pocket, handing it to her.

"Agreed. Swear." Raistlin said.

Holding up her wand, Hermione began. "I, Hermione Grange, do swear, on my life and magic, That I shall serve and obey Harry-"

"Not Harry." Raistlin interrupted her. "Just me."

Nodding, Hermione continued, "- the person before me, from now until the end of this world and it's magic. So mote it be!"

At that, sparks shot from her wand, signifying that a magical oath had been sworn. Unlike an unbreakable vow, which was literally unbreakable on pain of death, failure to keep a magical oath would merely result in a drastic loss of magical ability. Two or three broken oaths was usually enough to reduce a wizard to a squib, a fate most purebloods considered to be worse than death.

Calming down, Hermione realized that she was being stared at. The Weasley twins were gaping at here, eyes wide as saucers, while even Neville looked shaken.

Squeaking in embarrassment, Hermione darted behind Raistlin, her face turning deep red.

Raising his wand to the twins, Raistlin spoke.

"I'm going to have to ask for an oath from you, as well, that you not reveal what occurred here."

Shaking off their astonishment, the twins stared at each other, their expressions twitching as they communicated among themselves. Like many twins, they had a very close bond, which was amplified by magic to allow them an almost telepathic sense of what the other was thinking.

Turning back to Raistlin as one, the twins nodded their agreement.

"We'll have to think about this,"

"But we can't have someone messing with people's minds"

"What if he made us stop pranking?" one of the twins interjected, his face a mask of horror, for once completing a sentence without allowing his brother to finish it.

"So let's just say-"

"-at the moment-"

"-we're not on his side-"

"-and leave it at that."

As one, the twins raised their wands.

"We, Fred and Georege Weasley, do swear, by our lives and our magic, that we shall not reveal what occurred – or what we have learned – in this room, today, until released from this oath by Harry – we mean, this person in front of us" they interrupted themselves as Raistlin narrowed his eyes at them. "from now until the end of the world and it's magic. So mote it be!"

"And for the record" one of the twins jumped in, before anyone had a chance to say anything else.

"What you did to Ron-"

"-even if he did deserve it-"

"-was totally unacceptable and over the top. But-"

"-we have to admit-"

"-he's been behaving a bit better since."

"So we'll let you off this one."

Then, again acting as one, they turned and left the room, each lost in their own thoughts. The idea of Dumbledore doing something so wrong went against everything they had been raised to believe; but they had to admit, looking at actions instead of words, things might not be quite as clear-cut as they had thought.

"Dumbledore talks a good game," one of the twins said suddenly, interrupting the thoughtful silence.

"But when it comes down to it-"

"Harry's the one who does the right thing."

The decision had been made. The twins knew that, at the end of the day, they would be siding with Raistlin. The differences were obvious. Dumbledore talked a lot, but never seemed to actually act; Raistlin rarely said anything, yet his actions showed clearer than words that he was on the side of the Light.

oOoOoOo

Back in the abandoned classroom, Raistlin turned his head to face Neville, and raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

Neville felt cornered. On the one hand, Hermione had already sworn herself to serve Harry, but on the other Neville didn't like the idea of being anyone's servant. Then again, what if Harry stopped talking to him because of it? And told Hermione to stop? And he wasn't that close to Draco, so he would be all alone again, and then all the other kids would start making fun of him, and he could feel himself starting to shake at the very thought of it. Surely nothing could be worse then that!

So, reluctance in every line of his body, Neville raised his wand.

"I, Neville Longbottom, do swear, by my life and my magic, to serve and obey the person before me from now until the end of the world and it's magic. So mote it be!"

Sparks shot from his wand, and Neville had the sinking feeling he had just taken his first step along a path he did not want to travel. For the first time, the idea of being Harry's friend began to scare him, but he resolutely pushed the thought away.

_Everything will be fine. Harry will take care of me. Everything will be fine_. Neville tried to reassure himself, but still found himself wondering uncomfortably just what he had gotten himself into.

Raistlin smiled wryly at the boy. He had not expected this; he knew that he would never have sworn such an oath, but reminded himself not to underestimate the servile nature of humanity. Even in this world, it seemed, people were eager to throw themselves beneath the boot of anyone they thought more powerful than themselves. Raistlin had to laugh slightly to himself at that; little did they know, that both of his new servants were stronger than he was.

_Today has been a good day. _Raistlin decided, heading back to Gryffindor tower. A thought struck him; here was a chance to put his new tools to use.

"Hermione. Find out everything you can about this invisibility cloak, and indeed about invisibility cloaks in general. What are they ordinarily capable of? I have the feeling that this one is special – see if there is any mention, historically, of an unusually powerful invisibility cloak."

Hermione nodded purposefully, filled with the desire to prove herself. She hated having to be rescued, and was determined to show that she could carry her own weight.

"Neville. I need to know everything you can find out about the twins. Ask around, are they going to -"

Raistlin stopped mid sentence. He had absent-mindedly been keeping a part of his attention on the flows of magic through the corridor, and he had felt a large disruption, which most likely indicated someone – or several someones – heading down the corridor at speed. Or possible, a very _large_ someone, although not even Hagrid was that big. Maybe a troll? But there was no way a troll could have gotten into the castle... was there?

Drawing his wand, Raistlin gestured at his companions to do the same, and they assume a ready position, waiting to see what was coming.

oOoOoOo

Percy Weasley followed the rules. Percy Weasley loved power. This combination had made him a natural candidate for the role of prefect, although he was quickly gaining a reputation as the most ineffective holder of that title in some time.

Percy Weasley would never break a rule. Percy Weasley could not imagine breaking a rule. The rules said that all students would be in the great hall for the halloween feast. Therefore all the students would be in the great hall for the halloween feast. And so, when ordered to lead his house to their dormitories, he did not bother to take a headcount.

When Percy Weasley turned the corridor and saw three students standing there, and worse, three Gryfindor students, he was first shocked, and then furious.

"You are breaking the rules! No wandering the corridors! And why do you have your wands drawn? Are you doing magic? You know that's forbidden! McGonagall will hear about this!"

Neville slid his wands away, shooting a quick smile to Hermione at this display of Percy's famous obsession with the rules. Hermione, however, was looking shamefaced. She had nearly as much respect for the rules as Percy, and the idea that she was breaking them had simply not occurred to her before now.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Neville asked.

"There is a Troll in the dungeons." Percy sniffed disgustedly. Trolls were _against_ the _rules_. "The teachers are dealing with it. You are to follow me to the tower."

Raistlin's first thought was, naturally, that this was an excellent distraction. With all the professors sure to be busy, now would be the perfect time for him to slip of to do whatever he wanted to, uninterrupted. But after thinking for a moment, Raistlin realised that there actually wasn't anything he wanted to do that needed such a distraction. It seemed a shame to waste such a perfect opportunity, but he had only been here two months. There would surely be more such chances in the future.

~O~O~O~

**Authors Note:**

Was this too fast? I did think about having Hermione not discover what Dumbledore had done to her just yet, as that would have given us a bit of when-will-it-come-out suspense, but somehow it didn't feel right. What do you think? Thanks again to everyone who reviews – your feedback is much appreciated and very helpful!


	7. Chapter 7: The Sacrifice

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Chapter 7: The Sacrifice**

Time past, as time is wont to do, and the seasons turned. Soon the morning dew began to leave traceries of frost on the chill walls of the castle, and Raistlin's breath clouded the air like the exhalations of a sleeping dragon.

He stood on the edge of the forbidden forest, watching as the first rays of a new day shone starkly through the trees. The air was cold and still, the silence pressing in around him, as if the whole world was waiting for something. The ancient and gnarled trees before him seemed filled with dark promises, the leafless branches clawed at the sky as if silently screaming for an end to their torment.

Raistlin smiled bitterly. If anyone understood torment, it was him. Bound to the earth by the roots they needed to survive, only in death would they know release. The deep snow surrounding him bore mute testament to the power of nature.

Today was the last day of term. Tomorrow, the majority of students would be returning home for the holidays; very few had elected to stay. Raistlin, of course, would not be going. He saw no reason to leave. Hogwarts provided all he needed, and he wanted access to the library of magic here.

Today was also the Winter Solstice. A time of renewal and rebirth, the rising of the sun would mark the end of the reign of darkness, the ascent of light. Few wizards were aware of the importance of the date. Fewer still realised that this, the shortest day of the near, the longest night, was not a day of power for the dark. It was the day the dark failed.

_Even the night must fail, For light sleeps in the eyes; And dark becomes dark on dark, Until the darkness dies. _Raistlin thought to himself, reflecting on all the had happened. He had been busy this past month, studying, working, and today... today his efforts came to fruition.

Raistlin nodded once, sharply, and strode forward into the forest.

oOoOoOo

_Three weeks ago..._

"It's not working." Raistlin glared at the empty glass in frustration.

"I don't understand," Hermione answered, "you've got the incantation right, and you're doing the wand motion even better than I am."

"Maybe charms just aren't your strong suit?" one of the twins asked. They had taken to joining their little study group recently. At first drawn by curiosity about Raistlin, they kept coming back because of Draco Malfoy.

Away from the company of other Slytherins, and after having all references to blood purity summarily forbidden by Raistlin, he proved to have a biting, acerbic wit, which he was more than happy to demonstrate on the twins. They, in turn forbidden from relying on the physical humor that was their usual standby, enjoyed the competition. So far, Draco had been managing the last word nine out of ten times.

"It isn't enough. None of the spells I've tried have a fraction of the power they should have."

"Hold on," Draco said, "I've just had a thought."

"Cause for celebration!" One of the twins said, "What's that, two this year?"

"Regular scholar, our Draco."

"It's easy enough," Draco replied with a sneer, "when you don't have to share one brain between two bodies."

"Enough, you two. Draco?" Raistlin asked.

"What if your problem is exactly as it seems? What if something – or some one – is draining your magic?"

"I would have noticed."

"No, wait, hear me out." Draco raised his hands placatingly. "You've been looking at magic, _as magic_. Well, what if whatever's draining your power, isn't magic?"

"You mean some sort of muggle drug?" Hermione asked.

"No, nothing like that. But, I was just thinking, the magic we get taught at Hogwarts isn't the only kind of magic. We do, let's see, charms, transfiguration, runes, arithmancy, potions, divination, am I missing any?"

"History of magic" and "Astronomy" the twins put in, looking intrigued. "Herbology?" Neville added uncertainly.

"No, those don't count, they don't involve actual magic. What else is there?" Draco looked around at his friends (a word he never thought he would be able to use about himself). They all looked clueless, except for Hermione, who shifted nervously.

"Hermione?" Raistlin asked, noticing. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh, Harry, no, it's really dark, I mean bad, you really don't want to get involved in it..." she said miserably.

"Tell me."

Squirming beneath his stern glare, Hermione answered in a whisper. "Blood magic."

Now that she mentioned it, Raistlin remembered a number of references to blood in the various books he had been reading from the restricted section. For the most part, though, he had not realised that they referred to an entire separate branch of magic.

"Blood magic? Explain."

Draco answered him. "I only know a little, my father just told me how to recognize it and that I should never, ever, do anything with it. The thing is, with blood magic, is that it's permanent. Any wizard would have to be crazy to use it, because any blood spell you perform will last forever – and permanently drains some of the casters power to fuel itself."

"So, you think someone used my blood for some sort of blood magic spell, and it permanently reduced my power."

"Yes." Draco said simply.

Raistlin sat back, considering the possibility. It made sense. Sorting through the memories of the original Harry Potter, Raistlin realized that there were plenty of times had lost blood. He didn't know how much it would take, but... Thinking back, if someone had come up to the Dursley's and asked to take some of Harry's blood, Vernon would most likely have agreed... and maybe even offered a knife to do it with. Harry could easily have been obliviated afterwards.

"It makes sense. So, if we assume my blood was used, is there any way to get free of the binding?"

"No" Draco said, sadly. "That's why it's so dangerous. You can undo a charm with another charm, but nothing will free you from blood magic. Someone else's blood won't work, and if you use your own, it will only reinforce the spell. Blood for blood."

Raistlin's head snapped up at this last part, which had the ring of familiarity. Thinking back, he remembered it was from one of the first books he read. _Blood for Blood, Life for Life._

But that section wasn't about blood magic. Or at least, it wasn't called blood magic. It was about sacrifice. _Maybe blood magic works, because the blood is still a part of the wizard. Maybe, to break the spell, they have to be willing to give up the blood used for it. And the magic._

This did not appeal to him, but on the other hand, the magic was already lost to him, and he didn't like the idea of being the fuel for some other wizards spell. Additionally, there was a chance that he might regain some of the magic lost, once the bond was broken, and that would be worth any cost. _Yes._ Raistlin thought, _I would risk my life for the magic. No chance is too small to pass up, for the sake of the magic._

oOoOoOo

_December 22, 1991. 8:46 AM..._

Raistlin stood in a clearing the forbidden forest. The snow lay deep around him, and the ancient trees pressed close about him. The clearing was precisely forty and one half feet in diameter, or three times three ells, and a perfect circle. The hushed silence lent it a sepulchral air, enhanced by the slowly brightening twilight.

Raistlin's minions had been here since last night, preparing the circle, while he performed a ritual meditation. He looked around. Everything was in place. They had even used levitation charms to prevent the snow being disturbed.

In the centre of the clearing lay the implements he would need for the sacrifice rite – a knife, a brazier, and a braid of thestral hair. Surrounding him were the elemental icons – a stone for each aspect. Obsidian, for fire; Sandstone, for water; Moissanite, for air; and Marble, for earth.

Raistlin slowly lowered his robe, and stepped naked into the centre of the circle, kneeling before the ritual items. Slowly, the sun rose. The ritual must be accomplished at precisely 9:01 AM, the moment of dawn, when the balance shifted between light and dark. Raistlin could already feel the energies building around him.

Suddenly, the clearing was pierced by a single ray of light. The snow around him lit up as if on fire. Almost blinded by the flare, Raistlin felt a rush of power surrounding him, the energies rising, twisting, being caught by the circle of stones and turned inward... His heart raced; this was the moment! _This is it,_ Raistlin thought_, For this moment, I live; in this moment, I die..._

He had only seconds to act; his hands almost shaking with suppressed tension, his breath coming faster, Raistlin began the ritual. Unleashing his power, he allowed his personal energy to flow out from him, surrounding him, mixing with the building energy of the earth and sky, rising around him in a swirl of magic.

"Great mother, hear me!" Raistlin cried.

"My name is Harry Potter, and as your child I call upon you!" Raistlin called out, as he slashed his left palm, allowing his blood to flow out and splash upon the ground before him.

"My name is Fistandantilus, and by my blood I call upon you!" Raistlin cried again, cutting another gash in his palm, and allowing his blood to flow again. He could feel a response in the magic around him, energies building instead of dissipating, and he felt a building excitement. _This is going to work!_

"My name is Raistlin Majere, and by my name I call upon you!" Raistlin roared aloud, feeling the energy rushing through him as he cut his palm again, the deepest slash yet, allowing his blood to flow like water, soaking through the snow at his knees to touch the earth beneath.

"Thrice I have named myself before you! Thrice I have called upon you! Thrice I invoke you! HEAR ME!"

The last echoes of his voice faded from the air, leaving a sense of expectation. The power drawn forth by the dawn, by the change of seasons, thrummed around him. The snow shone like the surface of the sun, the nearby trees casting dark shadows that danced and twisted as if alive.

The brazier in front of him lit; the virgin charcoal bursting alight without his conscious direction. Raistlin felt as if the whole world had stopped in its course, waiting for his next words.

"That which was taken from me, I release!" Raistlin said, wrapping the cord of thestral hair around his left wrist. He could feel the dark energies within it mixing with his aura, melding, combining, as if awakened to new life by the power humming in the air.

Stretching his hand over the fire, Raistlin clenched his fist, forcing more blood to flow. It splashed down on the flames, bursting into puffs of smoke with a hissing noise, as the fire grew only brighter. Raistlin felt his magic draining from him, yet the energy in the air sustained him, filling him with false life. He forced himself to keep going.

"By the blood that I shed now, by my life, freely given, I renounce all claim to that which I am not. Let that which is not in me, be not of me!"

With a burst of energy, the brazier exploded in a roar of flame. Feeling it sweep around him, Raistlin braced himself, and stood fast. Now was the moment of truth; to retain his life, he must be willing to surrender it. To live, he must allow himself to die.

Few people would have the strength of will to gamble all they had, in the hope that it could be still better. Even fewer would have the mental discipline required. In the moment the flames reached him, Raistlin needed to be truly willing to give up his life. If he retained even the faintest hope that he would survive, the slightest desire for life, the fire would consume him. It was a tremendous risk.

The clearing rang like a bell, the echoes of magic bursting forth as the flames rushed up, around him... and let me live. More then that, Raistlin sensed a presence in the fire. A solid touch, as if another being reached out to him through the magic, through the circle. The fire touched him only for the briefest instant; yet the instant stretched on, and in it, Raistlin heard a woman's voice, deep, rich, and seductive.

"My dearest child, you do not know what you offer. So much you would sacrifice, so much give up, and for what? Love? No, you do not love. Freedom then? But you will never be truly free. Power, perchance? Yes, I see the shape of your desire. You yearn for it; for control, for possession. You want more, you want... the magic."

Raistlin waited.

"I could give you magic. Power beyond what even you could conceive. Immortality. You would be as a god! Everything you desire I offer you."

"And the price, for this largesse?"

"You have offered me your life. Live it in service to me. Humanity has strayed from the path, poisoned the seas, corrupted the earth. You must cleanse it. Go among men, destroy the abominations they have wrought, and remake the world as it should be. A small price, I think, for so much as I can offer you."

Visions danced before his mind's eye; Raistlin calling forth power, a torrent of flame sweeping the earth. An earthquake, levelling a city, as Raistlin floated above it, orchestrating the fall. He felt the familiar rush of magic, great magic, magic such as he hadn't felt since Krynn, and he quivered with desire for it.

An ecstasy beyond anything mortal means could offer, he yearned for it, craved it, and knew that if he accepted the offer, he would have it. And yet...

"You mistake me, my Lady." Raistlin spoke at last.

"I do indeed seek freedom, and a gilded cage is still a cage. I will not serve, will never server, anyone but myself. I cannot be compelled. I will not be commanded. I answer to no one!"

With a flick of his wrist, Raistlin brought his ritual blade up to press against his throat.

"My life may not be mine, but neither is it yours."

"Oh my child, how have you come to this, to think so poorly of me?" the woman's voice answered sadly, cruelly mocking. "But I am afraid you have no choice... You have offered me you life, and I accept. Your petty bluff will avail you not."

Raistlin felt a sudden burning in his arm, as his muscles contracted, trying to pull the knife away from his throat. His body answering to another's will, he felt a flood of desperation. He had failed; he had risked his life, and lost. No rescue would be forthcoming. There was no trickery that might save him, no power, no hope.

Thoughts flashed through is mind, quick as a a lightning flash, illuminating everything he would be leaving behind. Raistlin knew there was nothing he could do; his body was no longer his, the magic no longer answering him. All that remained was a choice, possibly the last free choice he would ever make. Would it be so bad, to serve? At least he would still be alive. Perhaps he would free himself, in time; why throw away his life now? Visions of everything precious to him passed through his mind, and then the one thing that means the most to him, the one thing that he could never bear to surrender.

All this happened in an instant. Knowing that his situation was truly hopeless, that he would get no second chance, Raistlin acted immediately. Thrusting himself forward, he felt the blade still in his hand sink into his neck. A flash of pain, and the last thing Raistlin saw, as he fell forward into darkness, was a spray of bright blood soaking into the snow before him.

oOoOoOo

The time was 9:02 AM, December 22, 1991. The new year had begun.

oOoOoOo

**A/N:** There will most likely be no chapter next weekend. Because christmas. Even interrupted me this week – I would have written more, but I ran out of time. That, and I kind of like leaving it on a cliffhanger ;)


	8. Chapter 8: The Resolution

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Chapter 8: The Resolution**

Two centaurs stood in a clearing, looking down at the body of a small child. The sun had risen high and bright above them, and the snowy ground shone with the fire of a thousand diamonds.

"He will soon be dead." One of them said, with slow deliberation.

"What do I care for the life of a viper?" the other replied, his swarthy face creased with a sneer of disdain.

There was a pause, the two centaurs standing in silent consideration.

"She wouldn't like it." the first said

"Then she would not have left him to the cold. He made his choice; let us abide by it."

"Perhaps she knew that we would be here. Perhaps she meant for us to help."

"And perhaps your waxen heart will melt in the sun. You do not cosset such a creature, you stamp it out. He has no part to play here."

Another pause. They contemplated the still, small form in front of them.

At length, the first spoke again. "Destiny hangs heavy upon him."

"His fate is not writ large," the other replied, "the stars know him not. What destiny can hang on such a one? His presence can only bring disruption, chaos." The dark-haired centaur shivered, and gestured at the clear blue sky, "Please Firenze, see what madness your compassion may bring! You, more than anyone, should know the danger."

"No. I know what has been, but what is to come is not yet fixed. If there is even the slightest chance to right the great wrong, it is worth any risk."

"From your mouth to Acheron's. I will have no part in this. And when I speak of this to the others, you will have cause to regret your folly... As, I fear, will we all."

With this, the dark-haired centaur turned and walked off into the forest. The other raised his hands above the small, still form half buried in the snow in front of him, and began to chant.

oOoOoOo

Raistlin awoke, his muscles cramped with cold, filled with a sense of loss – as if something incredibly important had happened, if he could only just remember it, but even as his eyes opened the feeling faded. Above him, the sun blazed like a vengeful god, filling the world with a cold and crystal clarity. Around him, the snow shone, undisturbed.

With effort, Raistlin pulled himself to his feet. For a moment, as he looked out at the expanse of clean, unbroken white, he remembered the last time he had walked across an unbroken field of snow. Raistlin's childhood has not been a happy one, and he had few pleasant memories from that time, but this was one he treasured. _I, Magus_ he thought to himself, and smiled.

Then he turned towards the school, and trudged wearily back. He could feel new power burning in his blood, magical energy that was his by rights, and that somehow had been denied him. He raised his hand, allowing a trail of sparks to leap between his fingers.

_I would give my life for my magic,_ Raistlin thought, revelling in the flow of power, and yet aware that the power he now commanded was still slight – although the ritual he had used had returned whatever power had been stolen from him, still, it was no more then the usual amount for a child his age, and still far less than he was used to.

As he came in sight of the castle, his smile turned from reflective, to predatory, and then faded altogether into a blank mask. _One day, fat innkeepers will bow to me_. Raistlin recalled the oath he made long ago, to his mentor Antimodes, and in his heart he swore it anew. _One day, all of your magic, your power, will be mine..._

oOoOoOo

Raistlin was bored. With the return of his stolen power, the simple spells practiced in class were no longer challenging him. In the few weeks that had passed since christmas, he had worked through all of the first year textbooks, and mastered every spell they described. He had always been interested in herblore, and even the most complicated first year potion was no more challenging than memorising the simplest of spells on krynn. In fact, the only class of which he was not the undisputed academic leader was broomstick riding, which he saw no value in pursuing anyway, and thus it was a rare flying lesson that he even attended.

The idea of studying ahead, learning the spells of later years in advance, had naturally occurred to him. He had even gone so far as to acquire copies of several higher level books. Still, something held him back from pursuing them. Somehow it seemed too basic, too ordinary. After all, if he did the same things that everyone else was doing, the best he could hope was to become what everyone else was becoming. To Raistlin, even the idea was unthinkable.

And so it was, he took to wandering the halls late at night, wrapped in his invisibility cloak, twisting his mind in knots over his future. _"I have never been ordinary"_, he had bragged to his sister, as they plotted to overthrow an emperor. _And now look at me, doing children's tricks. Is this all that I am? Is this what it has come to? That I should be... ordinary? _Raistlin shuddered, the thought sending a chill of horror down his spine. _No! I will not! I have mastered the dragon orb, I have travelled through time, I have defeated a goddess! I WILL be more!_

At the back of his, a quite voice whispered to him, _relax, give up, let it go... you could be happy here... you could find peace...give up your dreams of power...there is no history here... no prophecy... no fate... you could find peace... find hope... find love... you could be as other men..._

"But I am not as other men!" Raistlin cried, slamming his fists against the wall. Startled by the boyish sound of his voice, he was brought back abruptly to himself. Looking around, Raistlin realized he had wandered deep into the depths of hogwarts, far further then his nightly walks usually took him. The corridors of the castle stretched on, a seemingly infinite maze, constantly shifting and changing. He knew the castle contained many secrets; he had already found a number of them, mostly hidden rooms and passages.

Ahead of him, he saw a glimmer of light through the narrow crack of a barely opened door. At once putting aside his troubling thoughts, Raistlin went to investigate – drawn by mystery like a moth to the flame. Slowly, feeling his way with all his senses, he softly slid the door open and entered the room.

It was a large, bare stone chamber, no different than a hundred others he had seen, the thick dust on the floor showing it had been long since it had seen use. Propped against one of the walls, at just the right angle to reflect the rooms feeble torchlight into the corridor, there was a mirror. Large, easily the size of a man, it's frame showing the soft yellow glint of gold.

Raistlin approached it slowly, cautiously. It did not do to be too hasty dealing with any artifact, and judging by the lack of dust on the mirror, and the lack of footprints in the dust on the floor, that is what this must surely be. There was an inscription on the frame.

_**Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi**_

_Well, that's easy enough._ Raistlin grunted to himself; a child should be able to figure that out. "I show not your face but your hearts desire" he whispered aloud. Which implied the mirror would be safe to examine more closely. He didn't sense any traps about it, so its power must be contained, and Raistlin could not imagine any way that seeing his hearts desire could harm him.

_Hmm, I wonder what it is I truly desire,_ Raistlin pondered,_ What is it that I truly want? That's easy, freedom – to escape the surly bonds of earth, to fly free, unconstrained, my power unlimited, unbound... Perhaps what it has to show me will help, provide the key to break the trap of lethargy I seem to have fallen into._

Setting himself, prepared for anything, Raistlin walked around in front of the mirror, and stared.

At first he wasn't sure what he was seeing. A room, walls and floor of polished wood, lovingly constructed. A window, through which the branches of a vallenwood swayed, and in front of him, a man. A man so familiar, it felt like looking in mirror, save that his hair bore not a touch of white, and his eyes and his skin were normal. He wore a simple tunic, with a leather vest. At his waist there was a scrollcase in place of a sword, and on his face a smile of contentment. Beside the man, pressed close against him, there stood a woman. A woman with pale skin, as smooth as marble, and long dark hair, who gazed at the man with such a look of adoration as Raistlin had never seen before, at least not until he looked back at the man, who was now turning that same look of open love on the woman at his side. Suddenly a small child rushed into the picture, and was gathered up into the arms of the couple. A perfect, happy family.

Raistlin stared, his mind blank, unable to grasp what he was seeing. Then, slowly, understanding crept up on him, and with it came anger. _"No"_, Raistlin whispered to himself, softly. Then, again, as if the sound of his voice had strengthened him.

"No! This is not- cannot- I won't-" Raistlin strode forward, his rage building with each step he took, until he stood in front of the mirror, fairly quivering with rage, face to face with his duplicate, staring at a future that, now, could never come to be. A future Raistlin knew could not be his hearts desire; had he not fought against this fate, with every breath in his body? Had he not sacrificed everything, his health, his life, even his soul, to avoid just such a future?

His fury cresting, Raistlin lost himself in his rage; his eyes blurring with unspent tears, he felt something tear loose within him, and he beat his hands helplessly against the glass, while his childish voice screamed out denials until, at length, he collapsed into exhaustion, his fists bruised and his energy spent.

oOoOoOo

Dumbledore had never seen anything like it. He had been following the boy's nocturnal strolls for the last few days, and had taken great care to subtly direct his footsteps tonight, to bring him here, to this room. Dumbledore had followed, invisible, undetectable, as Raistlin entered. He had watched, silent, as Raistlin studied the mirror. He had waited, patient, as Raistlin faced it and stood frozen, prepared for him to become enthralled. He had not expected _this_. Never before had Dumbledore seen someone react so harshly to the mirror. _It shows your hearts desire! How could anyone be anything but delighted?_ No, there was something odd here.

Unless... What if his hearts desire had been something so terrible, his conscious mind could not stand to face it? _Neither can live while the other survives... _The line from the prophecy ran through his head. What if this was Fate taking a hand, and showing him not what he most desired now, but what he would, one day, come to most desire – the end of Tom Riddle? Yes, surely that was it. A young boy could easily react that way to the idea of having to kill someone, even someone as evil as Lord Voldemort.

Dumbledore would have to see that he was properly prepared, properly guided. After all, the last thing the wizarding world needed was a saviour unwilling to do what needed to be done. Or, worse, a saviour turning to the Dark because of it. No, Dumbledore would not let that happen. _The boy clearly has power, after all; the power that "the dark lord knows not". He will have to be properly... steered... into using that power appropriately. After all, power corrupts, everyone knows that. And after defeating Voldemort, well... the wizarding world already has me,_ Dumbledore thought, _what do they need with another saviour? Better dead then dark, really. I'm sure he'd thank me if he knew_.

On that comforting thought, Dumbledore stood and drifted silently from the room, leaving the exhausted boy to sob himself to sleep on the dusty stone floor.

OooOoOo

**A/N:** OMG, so much to say here! Don't want to write a big note though, so I will skip to the part you care about... I will continue to update this story, but I'm not going to promise weekly; whenever I get around to it. Big thanks to everyone who kept favoriting following and reviewing, even though I'm super late... kept me motivated to come back and get the story finished! I am so sick of great stories that get abandoned, I promise I won't do that here, not if I can help it!


	9. Interlude: The Circle

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**A/N:** Wow, I'm sorry, I really did not mean this to be ambiguous... The woman in the mirror is Crysania, of course! Remember, raven hair? Skin like marble? Only woman who ever loved him? The mirror is showing Raistlin what he thinks might have been if he had gone back to his own time from Istar, like Caramon wanted. In fact, now that I think about it, the whole thing is pretty much a giant flashback to time of the twins... oh well. On with the motley!

**Chapter 9: Interlude: The Circle**

The room was dark, the torches extinguished, and the only light came from a small sitting in the centre of the room. It cast a pale, sickly green light, barely enough to see by. Standing in an open circle around it were seven people in dark robes. The dim fluorescence unable to reach their light, they seemed a collection of shadows; obsidian statues, black upon black. They waited.

The door opened, a square of light in the darkness, casting a warm glow into the room. Still too dim to illuminate any features, it quickly passed, as an eight figure entered. Clad in a dark robe with green trim, he took his place in the circle, leaving only enough space in the circle for one more.

There was a moment of silence, then, at no visible signal, one of the figures raised his arms and spoke. His voice was harsh, blurred by some spell, until it sounded neither male nor female, young nor old. The voice was low and sibilant, barely more than a whisper, and yet it echoed through the room with all the implacable vibrancy of an avalanche.

"We are the children of the darkness, gathered in the name of our lord."

"He shall rise again" the others in the circle replied in unison, their voices as low and dark as their leader's.

The one in charge lowered his arms and spoke.

"I have gathered you here, to discuss–"

"Shouldn't we wait for Krait?" one of the others in the circle interrupted.

"No", the leader replied, "in fact that is actually one of the matters I wished to raise tonight. I have become... concerned... about where his loyalties may truly lie. But we will get to that in a moment; Where is the Gryffindor?"

"In the corridor outside" said the figure closest to the door. "However, I concur with Cobra. Krait should be present for the induction, as it may impact his mission."

Another voice spoke, this one standing to the leaders left. "Runespoor doubts him. That's good enough for me, and it should be good enough for you! He wouldn't be the Runespoor if we couldn't trust his judgement."

"Pah! Just because you fancy him..." one of the circled said.

"I do not! That is –"

"Thank you Boomslang", the leader interrupted, his feelings impossible to discern through the distortion of his voice. "As runespoor, I exercise my right to determine the order of business. We will deal with the Gryffindor. Then we will discuss Krait. Bring him in." this last was said directly to the one by the door, who bowed briefly and left.

"Taipan won't like it if we exclude Krait" the one known as Cobra said.

"Taipan doesn't need to know. And I have no intention of excluding Krait; I merely think he can't be trusted. But, then, can any of us?"

A few of the circle laughed at this; mostly simply sighed, as if it was an old joke, told too often. The door opened again, and in walked a boy with sandy hair, clad in a black robe with red trim. He was directed to stand in the center of the circle, the dim green light shining full upon him, as the one sent to fetch him closed the door and rejoined the circle.

"Gryffindor." the leader pronounced, and the boy jumped slightly, his breathing fast and shallow. "You stand amid the Children of the Dark. What cause do we have, to accept you?"

"I- I want to join you!" the boy said, his voice high. When no one answered immediately, he seemed to gain courage, and continued more steadily. "It's obvious what happened, isn't it? The D-Dark Lord attacks the Potters, and something goes wrong, and now here's Harry Potter showing up, and he's all dark and powerful and he knows too much... I think, the Dark Lord isn't all gone. I think he left something, some part of him in Potter, and one day he's going to want it back..." he trailed off uncertainly.

The circle waited, patiently. One among them made a move as if to speak, but was silenced by an almost imperceptible movement of their leaders hand.

The sandy haired boy glanced around nervously. The light too dim to make out any features, it seemed like he was surrounded by statues, carved icons shaped from darkness itself. Unable to bear the stillness, he spoke again.

"Um, maybe I'm wrong? Maybe Harry hasn't got something from the Dark Lord, or.. or maybe he is the Dark Lord, but he's in Gryffindor, so, maybe Dumbledore's controlling him somehow... Or I don't know, but he's not, like, just a kid. He's got something going on, and I know the Death Eaters aren't all gone, but Harry's got too much power to just sit around, and Dumbledore's up to something... he's always up to something... I just want to be on the winning side!"

"Seamus" the icon at the head of the circle said, startling the sandy-haired boy. "It is fortunate indeed, that you have come to us. Your... guess, is correct. But before we can welcome you among us, there is a small task you must perform."

"Oh? What's that?" Seamus asked.

"Do not interrupt" the dark figure said. Seamus gulped. "It is only this. You will follow Harry Potter. Watch him. Make note of what he does, where he goes, and who he talks to. We are especially interested, in his interactions with the other houses. We understand he has been seen in the company of Malfoy; investigate this, and bring us what you have learned."

"Ok" Seamus nodded, "How will I find you? I don't know who any of you are."

"You will not 'find us'. You will meet us, here, in this room, one month from today."

The circle returned to stillness. Seamus felt a tap on his shoulder, and jumped again, cursing himself for his nerves. Turning, he followed the gestures of the one behind him, and walked out of the room. The door closed behind him.

"Well, I see now why you wanted to talk about Krait after we dealt with the Gryffindor. Why didn't you tell us what you were planning?" Cobra asked.

"I told us. I just didn't tell you." Runespoor replied.

Cobra looked around the circle; several heads were nodding.

"You mean you didn't trust me, either. Well, fine!" cobra said angrily, " I hope you choke on your secrets. But this is more important than you, or me, or us. You've called a circle without one of the children; you can't do that."

"I hate to say it," one of the taller figures said slowly, "but Cobra may have a point. If you can exclude one of us, you could exclude any of us. The only way we can ever trust each other, is to know that the circle will never be called without all of us in attendance."

"Well, there's an easy way to be sure, isn't there?" the figure by the door said, turning to the person next to him, he added "What do you say, Hawk? Can he call a circle without one of us?"

There was a pause; the circle hesitated, waiting for the one called hawk to reply. "There is one situation where a circle can be called with only eight. When it is called to discuss the removal of the ninth."

"What? Remove Krait? No! We all know his father –"

"Shut up Viper!" Runespoor said abruptly, stepping forward into the circle, the dull green glow making his robes seem to shimmer. "You know the rules. Or perhaps it is YOUR removal we should be discussing?"

Viper shrank back, muttering an apology. Appeased, Runespoor returned to his place.

"The facts are clear. Krait has been spending a significant amount of time with our enemy. He converses freely with mudbloods and blood traitors. It is clear he has lost sight of his purpose."

"We did order him to do those things" Viper muttered.

"Sounds like he's doing well; he's winning their trust, making them think they've turned him, and being so convincing at it that he's even convinced you! I say, he deserves congratulations, not removal." said the taller figure, who had earlier agreed with Cobra.

"Whatever, you won't even be here next year" Boomslang said. "I say, Krait isn't that good of an actor. No one is. He's really gone over."

"No surprises there" Viper muttered, causing the one standing next to him to stifle a chuckle.

"So Runespoor, you are calling for the removal of Krait, on grounds of disloyalty." Hawk said, "Is that right?"

"It is" Runespoor nodded.

"And Boomslang, you second this?"

"I do."

"Does anyone oppose?"

"I do" Cobra said.

"I think we all know the situation. I call the vote." Hawk continued. "Viper?"

"There's no way Krait would betray us. I vote no."

"Two in favor, two against. Asp?" Hawk asked

"For the record, I think Runespoor made the right call, setting the Gryffindor to watch him. Krait's a stuck up little twerp, but there's not enough evidence to remove him." the figure closest to the door answered.

"So, you vote no?"

"I vote no."

"Boomslang, Cobra, and Runespoor have already voted. Two in favor, three against. Adder?"

"Even if he has gone over, I don't think we should let him find out that we suspect him. So I vote no."

"Very well," Hawk said, "that makes four against. Krait will not be removed, and I have to insist that no further business be conducted until he can join us."

"Very well then. Tuesday?" Runespoor said. The others nodded. Runespoor raised his arms dramatically, pronouncing "The Dark Lord shall return!"

"And we shall await him" the others of the circle responded, before turning and leaving the room one by one, in silence.


	10. Chapter 10: The Pebble

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weis, and my soul belongs to Cthulhu. Ia fhtagn!

**Chapter 10: The Pebble**

"So, Dumbledore killed Grindelwald at the height of his power, yet was completely unable to do anything against Dark Lord, who is still said to have been afraid of him?" Raistlin asked.

Raistlin was sitting with Draco in a quiet corner of the library. Neville was standing watch, to keep them from being observed. They had been talking for some time, Draco explaining the recent history of the wizarding world, with particular emphasis on a certain famous dark lord and his equally famous opponent.

"That about sums it up, yes." Draco answered.

"Interesting."

Draco shifted uncomfortably, and thought that Raistlin had a way of twisting things around until something that seemed perfectly obvious somehow came out sounding unbelievable. And then there were his eyes – somehow so empty of... of humanity, it was like looking into a mirror.

Draco wondered if Snape had ever felt like this, when he spied on Dumbledore for the Dark Lord. _Probably not_, he concluded – _Snape never has doubts, never hesitates. He always knows what to do_.

Just then, Neville appeared from around the corner where he was waiting, and made the gesture indicating that someone was coming as he casually strolled over to join them, followed shortly by a young blond girl dressed in robes trimmed with Hufflepuff yellow.

She approached the table, where Raistlin regarded her blankly. "What do you want?"

"Um," the girl started, twining her fingers together nervously, "I'm Susan, Susan bones? Of the, er, lesser house of Bones. Um. It's just, I know how you got that boy to stop picking on Hermione, and everyone leaves her alone now, but, there's this boy... I was wondering, maybe, he's been following me, and I thought you could, you know..."

"You want me to convince this boy to leave you alone." Raistlin asked flatly, "Why should I?"

"Well, um, I guess if there's something you want..." the girl said nervously, picking at the sleeve of her robe.

With a small and secret smile, Raistlin stood and walked slowly around the table, never taking his eyes off her. "You know, I think there might be something you could help me with. You see, I've been fascinated with the way the wizarding government works, and in particular how they deal with the... less desirable elements. I would very much like to see the inside of the Ministry, particularly the department of magical law enforcement. Just, you understand, so I can feel comfortable that we are all being well protected."

Susan looked into the other boy's eyes as he moved to stand next to her. Close – too close. She felt as if she was drowning in green fire, and looking into his eyes saw only herself, looking lost and alone, reflected in the endless, ageless, darkness, in the centre of his eyes.

Feeling herself flush, Susan stepped backwards, embarrassed at her reaction. He just always seemed so sure of himself, so poised and in control. He made her feel – she wasn't sure what she felt. Small, maybe. Like he could sum up everything about her with a glance, and none of it mattered.

"I can't, I mean, anyone can go to the Ministry, but you can't get into the Aurors sections. I can show you the ministry though, if you want?" Susan asked hopefully, yet with the sinking feeling that this was not going to be enough.

"Of course, I understand." Raistlin said, and Susan smiled. "You can't go into the restricted areas. But your aunt can. As head of the department, she can go anywhere. All you need to do, is borrow her authorization. Just for a day. It's not like we're going to be doing anything _bad_, is it? I just want to look around. And you'll get to see where your aunt works! I bet she doesn't let you come with her, does she?"

"No, she doesn't." Susan said, thinking quickly. There were bound to be other people there, even if her Aunt wasn't, and if they were just going to look around, not do anything bad. You couldn't get in trouble for just looking, could you? _And besides_, Susan thought, _that boy is really annoying!_

Mind made up, Susan nodded her head sharply. "I'll send you an owl when I can arrange it. Probably around the end of July, they're never busy then. The boy's name is Gavin Lacey."

"I'll take care of it." Raistlin said, sitting down again.

Susan hesitated briefly, then turned and left without another word. As she walked away, she felt her shoulders relax as tension flowed from her, and her thoughts turned to what she was going to tell her friends. _"I talked to Harry Potter. No, Harry Potter talked to me! I wasn't nervous or anything, and I said.."_

oOoOoOo

Once Susan was gone, Raistlin turned to Neville, and handed him a small package of parchment wrapped in a ribbon. "Take this to Gavin. Tell him he did well, and he's to leave Susan alone now." Neville nodded quickly, a sharp tilt of his head that was almost a bow, and left.

"Why did you do that?" Draco asked.

"Do what?"

"Give him back the letters. I mean, he did what you wanted, but if you kept them, then he'd have to keep doing it. So why'd you give them back?"

"Because I always pay my debts. Whatever his reasons, he did me a service." Raistlin replied reprovingly.

Draco nodded, he could certainly understand wanting to ensure that others repaid their debts to him, but Raistlin's desire not to owe anybody anything seemed a little obsessive.

"How are your studies going?" Draco asked, casually letting the subject drop.

"Well" Raistlin said, "Very well. I am beginning to understand the basic pattern to magic. The language is strange, but I expect that by the end of the year I will understand it well enough that my education may truly begin."

"Language? What language? I was talking about learning spells."

Raistlin only smiled, and Draco sighed in frustration. Raistlin said the strangest things, sometimes. _And he's usually right,_ Draco thought._ I wish I knew what he knows!_

It was amazing to Raistlin, how these people seemed to have no understanding of the basic components of magic. The words and gestures required, they learned by rote, never grasping how the related to each other. Although the magic practised here was different than what he had known, there were certain commonalities,and Raistlin had always been an avid student.

He refused to be discouraged by, effectively, having to start from the beginning again, and resolved that he would learn this alien magic as thoroughly as he had mastered the magic of Krynn. _At least,_ Raistlin thought, _ this is a more comfortable place to study than my first school_. Raistlin remembered, or rather tried not to remember, his suffering under the tutelage of the so-called "master" Theobald. Then later, when he studied with Fistandantilus – he had power then, but was no less isolated for it.

Hogwarts was entirely different. It was obvious to the other students that he was different than they were. _The sly one, they called me then_ Raistlin remembered, _but not here._ Here he was a Gryffindor, and the boy who lived, and expected to be strange and powerful. They did not like him, of course; Raistlin had anticipated that. What he had not expected, was to be accepted. He knew they watched him, whispered about him behind his back, but the whispers seemed less malicious than he recalled.

Raistlin was broken out of his reverie by just such a whisper. Behind a bookshelf, he could overhear two boys arguing with each other about which one of them was to approach him. Getting up, Raistlin padded across to them, approaching out of sight until he was directly behind them.

"I am here." Raistlin said. The boys jumped.

"How did you know we wanted to talk to you?" One of them asked.

"I always know when my name is spoken." Raistlin replied absently. He enjoyed watching the rumours about himself spread and change. It fascinated him, what people could be brought to believe, and there was certainly no harm in allowing them to think him more powerful than he really was.

"Look," the boy said, "we're playing Hufflepuff in a couple of weeks. I know you don't really follow Quidditch, but we've still got a shot at the cup – Hufflepuff beat Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaw beat Slytherin, so we've got a chance, but only if we win the next game."

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Just, you know, be there. If the Hufflepuffs see you at the match, they'll think you want Gryffindor to win, and that might put them off enough to give us the edge."

"I'll think about it" Raistlin said.

"Thanks." The boy replied. Glancing away, he seemed to be making up his mind about something, then he shoved his hand forward stubbornly. "I'm Kenneth, by the way. Kenneth Towler."

Raistlin made no move to take his hand. "Yes" he said simply, "I know. Kenneth Towler. Steven Hopridge. I imagine we'll meet again." Raistlin drawled sarcastically, then dismissed them from his thoughts and started walking back to his seat, before changing his mind and leaving the library. Transfiguration was his next class, and it never hurt to be there early.

As he left, he heard a shocked whisper from the second boy.

"How did he know my name?"

Raistlin smiled again.

oOoOoOo

Raistlin breathed deeply, focussing on the flow of energy within him. He felt it stir sluggishly, as he raised his hands, and brought his mind into the state of focussed clarity necessary for the working of magic. Shaping strange sigils in the air with his hands, Raistlin slowly intoned the words of magic.

"_Alteu Iftel Y'Nebra"_

He felt the power within him respond; flowing through him, through his voice, his hands, felt the familiar thrill as it took shape in the air before him. With a flash, a bolt of bright energy shot across the room, leaving a scorch mark on the opposite wall.

Raistlin exulted. His first spell! After months of studying the construction of these wand-waver's magic, of research, of dedication, he had derived the basic principles of magic and crafted a spell. And not just any spell – the same incendiary bolt spell that was the first one he had ever learned to cast without a material component. Now it was the first spell he had learned to cast through this alien magic. At least, the effect was the same, if the words and gestures were not.

Then he noticed something strange. The carefully built mental construct around which he had based the spell, was still there in his mind. The memory of the spell, which should have been expended when he cast it, was somehow still there. Cautiously, Raistlin raised his hands once more, to put it to the test.

"_Alteu Iftel Y'Nebra"_ He intoned, and again a bolt of energy flashed across the room. Raistlin swayed, feeling the drain on his energy more strongly with this casting. And yet, the structure was still there, ready to be used again. It was almost as if, once he had mastered it, the spell would always be there, ready for him to cast.

Raistlin gasped in shock. _Of course! Gilean's compromise! _Raistlin recalled, _Spellcasters must study their spells anew each day, because of the compromise made by the gods of magic with Gilean. But, the God's reach does not extend to this world..._ _This power is entirely my own_, Raistlin realized, _ and limited only by myself!_ Slowly at first, but with gathering strength, he began to laugh.

Suddenly struck by a thought, Raistlin quickly pulled out his wand. Making an elaborate gesture in the air with it, he again spoke the words of the spell.

"_Alteu Iftel Y'Nebra"_

Again, the bolt of fire flashed through the air, although this time the drain on his energy was much less. Raistlin could feel the flow of power being amplified by his wand. _Interesting_, he thought, _that explains why the wizards here all carry them_.

Considering further, He decided to make another test. He brought to mind one of the first spells they had learned – _wingardium leviosa_, the levitation charm. Plucking a quill from his pocket and tossing it down in front of him, he allowed his mind to sink into that same semi-trace of focus that allowed him to feel his magic directly.

With neither word nor gesture, Raistlin called up his magic, letting it fill his mind, and flow through the structure of the spell there. _Wingardium Leviosa_ rang through his thoughts, and slowly the quill began to rise. With every inch it rose above the floor, Raistlin felt like a great weight was crushing him down, as if his blood was being pulled from his veins. Releasing the spell, he nearly collapsed. _Obviously my magic is not yet strong enough to sustain this level of effort_ he thought. _ I shall have to train harder._

Raistlin pushed himself to his feet, and slowly made his way back to Gryffindor tower, happy with his day.

oOoOoOo

Dumbledore was not happy with his day.

The last professor had just left his office after their weekly staff meeting, and Dumbledore had checked again the device monitoring the corridor in which the Philosophers stone had been hidden. So far, the furthest any students had gotten were the Weasley twins, who seemed to be stumped by the giant chess set.

Raistlin, on the other hand, had yet to go anywhere near it. _This is unacceptable! _ Dumbledore thought, _How can I do anything with the boy, when he just doesn't seem to care? It is clear I will need to offer a more elaborate incentive, to prompt his investigations._

The next day, Dumbledore stood at the end of their evening meal, and waited for the room to quiet. When he was sure he had everyone's attention, he put on his most grave and decorous face, with only the faintest trace of twinkle in his eyes.

"It has come to my attention", Dumbledore said, "That some of you have been investigating the forbidden corridor on the third floor. There are some artifacts, some magical knowledge, that is simply too powerful and dangerous to be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. The protections that surround them, are therefore equally powerful and dangerous. So it is absolutely vital, for your own safety, that you _do not_ continue these explorations. The third floor corridor is off limits! To everyone!"

He sat back down, apparently oblivious to the enraged glare levelled at him by his deputy, or the furious whispers that had erupted around the hall. All his attention was focussed on one small boy, who had black hair, a lightning bolt scar, and a pensive look on his face.


End file.
